Down the Rabbit Hole, Again and Again
by TickyPik
Summary: Written in 2nd person perspective. Alice, a 25 year old hunter, meets the Winchester brothers during an investigation involving the breaking of seals. Of no choice of her own, Alice is entangled in the deceitful web of a war between angels and demons. On the pursuit to stop the apocalypse, she discovers more about herself and her true origins than she could ever imagine. Castiel/OC
1. Birthmark

_**Hello, everyone. Some of you may know a recent sensitive topic was broached by Misha Collins regarding the spelling of Cass or Cas.**_

 _ **I would like to explain the reason I chose the double S spelling is because I came upon the show on Netflix and the captions have always spelled it as "Cass", therefore, it became what I used. It wasn't until I started reading other fanfictions that I realized most of the fandom preferred "Cas" instead. I, personally, am perfectly fine with either and I can get lost into the story with both.**_

 _ **However, I would like to apologize if the deviation has taken away from the purity of the fandom. It was not my intention. I hope any new readers will not feel deterred because of this. =)**_

 **PLEASE READ AND REVIEW!**

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You shift your back slightly upwards, feeling sore from the uncomfortable arrangement of your limbs. Your hands are bound tight with rope, and the frayed edges are digging into your skin. The wooden pole you're tied to offers little comfort in your current predicament. With half-closed eyes, you survey your surroundings once again.

The warehouse you're captured in is dark. The lone bulb overhead tries its best to stretch the feeble light over the entirety of the space. The windows along the walls are boarded up, revealing nightfall through the cracks.

You look across the dirt ground to the three dead bodies that lay bloody and ravaged a few meters away. A trail of their blood leads your eyes back to your captors.

A group of eight men are positioned in various parts of the warehouse. One in particular, is standing at the center holding a large chalice dripping with crimson. Upon closer inspection, you can see their eyes are nothing but black, declaring their demonic origin. Over top, a window through the roof displays a full moon, casting an eerie glow over the lot.

"It's time for the next one." A demon standing in the corner walks up, tapping the watch on his wrist.

The man grasping the chalice nods. "Bring her up."

A whimper breaks out to your left. You watch silently as the young woman, tied just as you are, is yanked to her feet and pushed towards the ornate cup.

"Please, don't do this! I'll give you anything... Please!" She cries as she is dragged away.

The demon breathes out a laugh, exposing the knife at his belt. A dark grin pulls across his face.

You grit your teeth, tightening your muscles.

 _BOOM!_

The front doors to the warehouse are kicked open, crashing to the floor. All attention pinpoints to the two individuals standing idly by the broken entrance. You try to make out their faces, but the light is hardly strong enough. Noticing the sudden movement of your captors, the intruders raise their weapons.

"Demons!" The taller of the two shouts out.

"Yeah, I can see that! About damn time!" The other man takes a cautious step into the room. "Howdy boys, heard there was a party and just had to come."

A feral snarl erupts from the center demon. "KILL THEM!"

All at once, the room is filled with discord. You pull free from the ropes and quickly scamper to the other side of the pole. You see the other girl struggle with her captor, doing her best to pull away from the man's knife. As he raises his hand to strike, another gunshot rings through the air. The hell-spawn howls in pain, dropping the knife and chalice with a clang. Thick streams of red spill from the cup and soak the floor.

" _Intitem_." You whisper.

The rope around the girl's wrist comes apart, falling to her feet. She stumbles back at her sudden freedom. Finding a wooden post for support, the girl quickly flees behind it. You are torn between the desire to help the girl and to stay hidden. When you notice none of your captors are currently paying attention to either of you, your eyes flicker back to the fray.

As the taller of the two intruders continues to incapacitate the surrounding enemies, the other would deliver the death-blow. With a deep grunt, the man plunges a dagger into his third victim. The demon stutters out a ragged cry as flashes of yellow beam beneath his skin, flickering out as he falls.

"Dean! They're trying to make a run for it!" The taller man punches back another opponent before flinging liquid from a silver canteen. There is a screech of pain when the substance touches flesh.

"Dammit, Sam! I'm moving as fast as I can!" The man named Dean rasps as he grapples with his fourth attacker.

You narrow your eyes at the chalice holding demon as he breaks for the entrance. Catching sight of the rake by the door and the rusting metal beam over top, you mutter another incantation. " _Miras._ "

As the demon approaches the exit, a gust of wind blows inward. The rake knocks back, sending the man toppling. He drops the chalice. The bronze cup clinks and rolls behind him. With a growl, he tries to get up. The rusted beam above him cracks, catching the demon in a shriek just as it dives downward. His cry lasts only a second before the jagged edge pierces through the man's head, stopping inches past the back of his skull. The body crumbles.

The whole room is momentarily stunned by the sudden and abnormal death. Taking advantage of the situation, Dean hacks down another one of your captors. His ally moves just as quickly and splashes another round of fluid on the remaining two. The demons cry out, as if doused with acid. Weakened, Sam overtakes the demons, pinning them down as his comrade promptly finishes them off.

You watch the last kill with bated breath. All of the demon-possessed bodies are dead, leaving you and the terrified girl alone with these men. You inch back further from the light, wondering if it's about time you high-tailed it out of here.

"Did we stop it?" Dean asks between pants.

Sam glances to the frightened girl by the pole then to the bronze chalice lying by the entrance. "I think so."

Your ears catch a fluttering sound when a third person suddenly materializes in the room. You blink in surprise. This man, standing over the chalice, seems to have appeared out of thin air. He bends down to pick up the metal cup before examining it.

"You did well to stop this seal." His voice is unexpectedly gruff.

The two men jump.

"Dammit, Cass. We told you to quit doing that!" Dean shakes off his alarm and moves to wipe the blade over his sleeve. "And what the hell's with you constantly popping up behind us?"

Sam sighs, then looks to the female hostage in the corner. When she realizes she is suddenly the center of attention, she presses herself closer to the pole. Sam takes a step towards the girl.

"Please don't hurt me!"

The taller man quickly puts away his weapons and raises his hands as a gesture of non-violence. He takes another step. "It's okay. We're not here to hurt you. We're here to help."

The girl stares at him warily. A few moments of unease roll past before her shoulders begin to lower in relief. "Oh my God..." She stutters out, "Please, I just want to go home!"

Sam lightly touches the girl's shoulder, offering support. The young woman immediately collapses into him, gripping onto his jacket with feverish intensity. She starts wail.

"It's ok. It's all over now. We'll take you to a hospital. You'll be fine."

You study the way he consoles her, wondering if the man does this often.

"No, she won't."

The girl's sobs are choked mid-cry.

Dean shoots the third man a bewildered look. "Cass, what the hell are you talking about? We killed all the demons."

The man addressed shakes his head. "She's been bitten by a werewolf. If you let her back into society, more people will die." He pauses, something seems to catch his attention. The man starts to look around. When his face turns in your direction, you freeze. You know you're well hidden.

His actions seem to escape the notice of the other two.

Sam peers down at the young woman. "Is that true? Did you get bitten?"

The girl retracts her grip and steps back, clutching a bloody wound on her right forearm. A terrified look draws across her face. "Why? What does that mean? What's going to happen to me...?"

Unable to say anything, Sam's eyes darken.

"Aww, c'mon!" Dean throws out his hands in frustration. "Cass, can't you use your angel powers to reverse it or something?"

The man named Cass turns his attention back to the scene before him. Without warning, he strides towards the girl, raising his hand to her head. "If you are uncomfortable with the task, I can do it for you."

Eyes wide with horror, her voice dies to a whimper.

Ah hell! You curse in your mind. Letting go of your hiding spot, you jump into view. You make enough noise to attract the focus of everyone in the room, sending all three men on their guard. You watch with an irritated expression when the two boys finally lower their weapons.

The man named Dean gives you an odd look. "You're that other girl they caught." He looks to the spot where you were tied up moments ago. The place is now marked by only a bundle of broken ropes. "How'd you get out?"

You give a brief sigh, feeling indignant. Now that you're closer, you get a better view of the three men. The one who spoke is wearing a gray shirt with a navy jacket and jeans. There is a dark smudge on his left sleeve. His short dark hair is messy and smeared with dust. Standing next to him is the one called Sam. He looks even taller now that you're up close. His plaid collar shirt and jeans are ruffled and sprinkled with blood. Upon looking at his face, the man seems much younger than his friend, almost docile. His longer draping hair brings out an appearance of a calculated sensitivity.

"You guys are hunters, I'm guessing."

The two exchange looks.

"You know about hunters?" Dean asks you.

You ignore him and move on to the third man. You notice he's scrutinizing you at the same time. Unlike the other two, this one is dressed like an everyday citizen. White collar shirt and tie, dark suit, and beige trench coat. He cocks his head slightly to the side, and the weak light dances across his face. You catch the color of his pale blue eyes the instant the light refracts, filled with a brooding semblance.

You raise a skeptical eyebrow. "And apparently, one angel."

The second observation provokes a far more severe response.

"You know about angels too?" The man's voice is now darker, lurking with violent promises.

You cross your arms and scan their cautious expressions. "Angelic powers. That's what you said." You pick at your words, feeling out the risks of your position. You slide your gaze to the supposed angel. "I saw you zap outta nowhere."

The hunters exchange muted messages. The shorter of the two then shrugs. "Okay, so who are you?"

You unfold your arms and look past them at the still-terrified girl. "I guess you can say that I'm a hunter too. I originally wasn't going to get involved, but I would prefer if you guys didn't kill perfectly innocent people before exhausting all other options."

Dean makes funny face. "Hey, I don't wanna do this anymore than you do, but if you're a hunter, you should know. There's no cure for werewolves. If we let her go now, she's just gonna turn full Mr. Hyde the moment she falls asleep during the full moon. Then it's nothing but-all-you-can-eat human hearts buffet."

Pressing your lips into a thin line, you push past the three men towards the girl. "Thanks for the imagery, but contrary to popular belief, there is a cure. But only for freshly made werewolves who've yet to change form."

You touch the girl's arm gingerly and examine her face. "I'm going to need you to calm down. If your heart rate reaches a certain point, you may trigger your werewolf transformation." You bend down to your right leg and take out a syringe strapped to your calf. Moving to the inside of your jacket, you extract the needle before attaching the two.

"You're shitting me. There's an actual cure?" Dean seems genuinely surprised.

The taller man is less convinced. "How are you sure she's never turned before?"

You lift the syringe to the light and test its flow. "I saw her get bitten when I was brought in. They killed the werewolf immediately after." You nod towards the three mangled bodies in the corner. You direct your voice back to the girl. "I'm going to inject you with this, and it'll clear the werewolf virus out of your system. Other than a prick, you won't feel a thing." You wait for her permission.

The girl eyes the syringe with unease. After a long period of strained silence, you wonder if you have to provide further incentive. Before you speak, she acquiesces with a nod. Satisfied, you press the needle into her forearm and empty the contents into her veins. Sliding the metal beak out, you promptly step back to give her room.

"How do you feel?"

The girl passes her fingers over the prick on her arm.

The three men behind you watch with rapt attention.

"I feel..."

 _Crack._

A scream rips out as her body contorts in an unnatural angle. The two hunters lunge back when the woman falls, wailing and writhing on the ground. You feel a hand grab your shoulder, jerking you around to face the one named Dean.

"I thought you said she won't feel a thing!"

You glare at him and shrug off his hand. "I lied! Calm down! She'll be fine in a few hours. The werewolf virus inside her is fighting the cure. She wouldn't have accepted the serum so calmly if she knew how bad it was gonna hurt. The last thing we need is her turning due of hysteria."

The two hunters shift uncomfortably, unable to deliver a comeback.

"So she'll be completely human again?" Sam asks, his eyes glued to the convulsing girl. "No side effects?"

You shake your head. "None that I know of."

"And how many times have you done this?"

"She's the second."

The two men shoot you looks of exasperation.

You return their glares with one of your own. "If you haven't noticed, it's not exactly easy to find newly bit werewolves before they turn. They're usually clueless as to what happened, and they act perfectly human."

"It doesn't matter." The man in the trench coat interrupts. "If you are able to cure her, then this is a fortunate situation." He bends down and places two fingers to her forehead. Before you can stop him, a soft light glows from his fingertips.

Her screams are cut off, and the previous look of pain is now replaced with tranquil slumber.

"I've put her to sleep. This should ease the transition." The blue-eyed man stands back up, studying his handiwork.

You're taken aback. Given how primed he was to kill this girl just moments earlier, you're still feeling suspicious of his actions.

Dean makes an odd face of approval. "That's uh, strangely nice of you, Cass."

When you notice the so called angel is now back to scrutinizing you, you decide it's time to call it a day.

"Well." you say as you take a step toward the exit. "It was nice to meet you. I'm sure the girl will be fine in your capable hands. So, if you don't mind, I'm gonna go now." You turn swiftly, eager to leave.

"Wait, hang on-."

Before Sam can finish, the man in the trench coat suddenly appears in front of you. You skid to a stop, almost walking into him. Startled and unnerved by his unnatural abilities, you jump back. "What are you-?!"

"I can't let you go." There is a hint of urgency in his voice.

Alarms blare in your head. "And why is that?"

"Because you're not human."

It takes a few seconds before you're able to register his words. "Are you mental? I'm as human as any human ever was!" You hear the men behind you approach, and you begin to feel increasingly on edge.

"I do not have any form of mental illness." His right hand moves to grab your wrist.

You instinctively pull away, widening the distance between you.

Sam watches the exchange with caution. "Cass, what's going on? What are you saying she is-?"

"I am one hundred percent human!" You bark out, feeling your anger bubbling. "Not a werewolf, not a vampire, not a shapeshifter, nothing! Just human! Now let me leave!"

The two hunters look towards the angel, waiting for a response.

"I never said you were any of those things," He shifts his head just a bit, studying you from the corner of his eyes. "But you are definitely no human."

Before you can retort, the angel reemerges frighteningly close to you. You move to back away again, but he's ready this time. His hand seizes your arm, effectively trapping you.

"Let-" Just as the words leave your mouth, the man releases his grip. His eyes flicker to his hand then back to you. His behavior mimics that of someone who was just electrocuted.

You stand immobile, finding his actions incomprehensible.

"Cass?" Dean asks.

The angel furrows his brows. "It's nothing." He grabs you again. You try to pull away, but his strength is immense. Roughly, he turns your wrist outward, revealing the small mark sitting an inch below your palm. His eyes slide back to your face. " _This_ proves you're not human."

You follow his gaze, eyeing the mark. The familiar shape of its arches and strokes which resembles that of a Chinese symbol remains unchanged. Your eyes flash back to your captor in aggravation. "Look, Mr. Angel. I don't know what you guys call this up in Heaven or where ever it is you come from. But on Earth, this is a birthmark. Which means, I've had it since I was born."

Sam and Dean approach, curious of the impression on your arm. After examining your wrist, the taller hunter regards their angelic ally.

"What do you think?"

You roll your eyes.

Your captor turns your wrist slightly against the light. "There's no mistake. This is the mark of an immortal."

The two hunters seem immediately convinced.

The angel loosens his hold and you finally manage to retract your arm. "You've got to be kidding me. It's a regular birthmark. There's nothing special about it. I've had it since I was born. I'm 25. I age normally like everyone else."

The bridge of Sam's brow crease. "So you're saying she's some kind of witch? Like she's sold her soul to some demon, and she's using spells to stay immortal?"

You actually can't believe they just completely ignored you.

The man shakes his head. "Not a witch. Just immortal." He hesitates, a strained look on his face. "But, something is odd."

You give up trying to convince them and simply wait for their conversation to continue.

"Bearing this mark means that she would have been alive during biblical times..." You can feel the piercing strain of his eyes. The probing gaze passes over your body, making you feel strangely exposed. "But she's telling the truth. She's only 25 years old."

Dean rolls his shoulder back impatiently. "So which is it? Is she immortal or not?"

You remain silent, awaiting his verdict with a doubtful look.

The seraph tilts his head back, his scrutiny fastened to you. "She is definitely an immortal being. I felt her presence the moment I arrived."

You wipe your face of all emotion. If they weren't going to let you go peacefully, then you're ready to rip these assholes a new one for your freedom.

"So what are you suggesting we do?" The taller hunter looks uneasy. He seems to sense your tension.

"Lilith is currently looking for an immortal. She'll need to be protected." The trench coated man brings out his hand, beckoning you to take it. "I suggest you come with us."

You stare at the gesture before snorting sarcastically.

"Just go along with two hunters and a sociopathic angel I just met. Thanks, but no. I'll protect myself." You turn to leave again. Although you get a few steps in, you're once again interrupted by a figure forming out of thin air. You look up and meet the fearsome expression of a tall black man.

He abruptly grabs you roughly by the shoulders. "You need to do as you're told, immortal filth." His grating voice is heavy with hostility.

You're momentarily petrified, your breath caught in your throat. You can feel the blood pound in your ears. " _Lutrus Ectium._ " You stutter out without thinking.

Before everyone's eyes, you dissipate from view. The man who grabbed you stares at his open hands, now holding nothing. The two hunters look around the room, searching for where you might have disappeared to.

"What was that?" Dean breathes out.

The blue-eyed angel looks to his compatriot. "Uriel. What happened?"

The man named Uriel is visibly seething. "Blasted wretch. She used a spell. I can't sense her anymore."

The seraph slides his eyes across the warehouse. "She must have teleported." He turns to the two hunters. "We have to find her at once, before Lilith and her demons get a hold of her."

The men trade looks before Dean responds. "Even if we were able to find her, wouldn't she just escape by disappearing again?"

"We'll locate the girl." Uriel snarls. "Just follow our instructions on keeping her locked up when we detain her." His angry eyes veer back to the civilian-like angel. "Let us go, Castiel. We have more orders."

The celestial being nods back before Uriel disappears. After leaving the hunters with an almost apologetic glance, Castiel too, vanishes.

Dean gives out a troubled sigh. "God, they're such dicks!"

Sam looks around at the aftermath. "C'mon. We still gotta get rid of these bodies and take the girl to a hospital."

Dean sighs again. "All right, I'll get the girl, you go get the shovels."

When the two hunters finally leave, you let out your held breath. Drinking in the air, your body materializes back into view. The spell you cast is able to hide you from all forms of detection as long as you didn't breathe. You think you just broke a new record.

Knowing the two men will soon be back, you immediately exit the warehouse. You crouch and step quickly, making for the dark forest behind the building.

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	2. The Red Pill Or The Blue Pill

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It's been two days since your run-in with the demons. Despite hearing of similar happenings in the nearby towns, you decided to keep to yourself. The allegations made by the blue-eyed angel more than unnerved you. Although you're quite certain of being human, you still can't shake the feeling of unease. Now that you've got two hunters and apparently angels looking for you, you conclude it's best to keep low and out of the way of any supernatural occurrences.

You're lying in bed with headphones over your ears. The blasting music as an attempt at distraction is nothing more than background noise. You can't help your nagging curiosity. Why is there a sudden explosion of demon activity? And what were the demons who captured you trying to summon?

You had purposely allowed yourself to be taken, faking faint as they brought you to the warehouse. During the ride, you kept hearing the name Lilith and something about having what they needed to break the seal of Agiel.

With a groan, you take off your headphones and turn off the CD player. Nothing is helping and you're growing increasingly restless. You glance out the window of your bachelor apartment and notice the sun has finally set. Fed up with your solitude, you think it's safe enough to venture outside for a little shopping. You quickly grab your keys, phone, and other minor necessities before closing the door behind you.

On your walk to the corner store for a case of beer and possibly a box of strawberries, your mind wanders back to the conversation between the two hunters and the angel. Clearly, they know something about these seals and the person named Lilith. You're almost curious enough to seek them out for answers. _Almost._

You give a quick glance around the store. Other than the cashier currently scanning the merchandise, there is an old woman standing by the fridge examining the boxes of eggs. You relax a little. You don't know how angels operate, but you feel there's less chance of you being found if you move after daylight. Maybe they're resting by now. You wonder if angels sleep. Walking out of the store, you decide to take a back alley route as to further avoid mingling among other people. This way, you'd be able to enjoy a bottle without scrutiny. Enlivened by the prospect of public drinking, you quickly lift a beer from the box and pop off the cap. You take a large gulp and exhale in satisfaction. When you look up from your bottle, you abruptly lose your smile.

A few meters down the alleyway stand two men. Behind them, the light of a back entrance throws shadows over their figures. Despite their silhouetted appearance, you recognize them immediately.

"Did you really think you could out run angels?"

You remember his venom filled voice all too well. The angel, Uriel. You gulp nervously.

"Uh... yes?" You take a step back, eyes darting for an escape route. Things don't look good. You're about to open your mouth, but something forces it shut. Your eyes grow wide with alarm.

Uriel has his hand raised. "That should stop you from uttering any more vexing spells."

You look to the other man, remembering him to be more sympathetic. He remains idle, watching you with cool eyes.

Out of options, you turn to run. However, before a single step is taken, Uriel appears in front of you. His hand shoots out, grabbing you roughly by the shoulder.

"You won't be getting away anymore."

The surroundings suddenly shift, and the ground beneath your feet disappears. You feel the onslaught of vertigo, then the immediate pressure of gravity. Touching solid surface again, you stumble sideways. When you get your bearings, you realize you're now in a completely different place. Your head moves back and forth as you glance about the strange room. Just as your eyes find two familiar hunters blocking the entrance to what seems to be the kitchen, you're quickly yanked back. A hand presses down on your shoulder and you're forced into a chair. You jerk back to glare at the angel manhandling you. He gives you a snide grin in response and snaps his fingers. The next thing you know, your hands and feet are fastened to the arms and legs of the chair with ropes. The bag containing your strawberries and beer has vanished from your hands. You make more noises from your throat, still unable to verbalize your protests.

"Do you have the ingredients ready?" Uriel barks.

The hunter you remember as Dean passes over a metal bowl of mixed herbs and animal bones. He's clearly discontent with the angel's commands.

You grunt and groan behind sealed lips, pleading with your eyes at either of the two hunters to help you. They watch you with discomfort but make no indication of coming to your aide.

Uriel picks up a silver knife from the table and your eyes widen as the blade slowly approaches. Fear shoots through you when you see the callous indifference on his face. You fight against your restraints, trying to jerk as far as away from the weapon as possible. Your efforts are futile.

Uriel presses the edge against your forearm and you wince. The incision is made slowly. A clear red line thickens as blood pools along the cut. Uriel sets the knife back on the table and twists your injured arm to the side. He holds the metal bowl beneath the wound and lets the blood drip in.

At a wave of his hand, the contents inside disappear. Looking down, you notice a circle of archaic runes has appeared around you, and Uriel steps behind the markings. With a flick of his wrist, the runes catch fire, making your jolt. However, the flames soon die down to a glow, illuminating the circle with pulsing embers. The angel snaps his fingers and the hold on your mouth disappears. You take in a few deep breaths at the sudden release. Keeping your glare aimed at the ground, you hold your tongue from further exacerbating your situation.

You search the far reaches of your mind for a solution. Whatever they did, you can't seem to find the spells to break free. It's as though a part of your memory has been blocked. You close your eyes and breathe out your nose. Your insides boil at how easily you were captured and you curse your predicament. What can you do? They're _angels._ You have no idea how powerful they are, and you're disarmed and out-numbered. There's no choice but to accept the situation.

"All right. You win. So what do you want?" you say through gritted teeth.

Uriel looks down his nose at you. "You are to stay here until further instruction. If you try anything, I will roast you alive where you sit."

You narrow your eyes but otherwise say nothing.

"And you two." He switches his attention to the hunters. "Make sure she doesn't leave your sight if you value keeping all your limbs."

The men glare back, but Uriel ignores them.

"Castiel, you are to uncover as much information as you possibly can from the immortal while I am away seeking revelation. I will expect a full report upon my return."

Having been standing motionless near the window this entire time, the second angel finally moves upon the address. He does, however, remain taciturn, and only returns a grim nod.

Uriel pulls his lips into a tight grin, his eyes shining with a dogmatic pleasure. Without another word, the angel disappears. The sound of fluttering wings echoes the departure.

Everyone in the room visibly relaxes.

Dean raises his hands, clenching them into fists. "God! What would I give to smash that arrogant prick face of his."

You see the blue-eyed seraph frown. "Uriel can be... abrasive. But he is only following orders."

Dean scoffs. "Yeah, whatever. You say it like that excuses the way he's been treating us like worms the whole time."

Now that the tension has died down, you look around the room once more. Homey would be a polite way of describing this dwelling. Your eyes trace across the scratched up wooden floors then the coffee table to your left. You spy four circular imprints on the planks. You assume it's where the table is supposed to be before it was pushed against the couch to make room for your trap. Behind the couch is a bay window and the surrounding walls are covered by tacky wallpaper marked with dust stains and age. As for the rest of the furniture, there are various bookshelves standing in the corners, filled with odd tomes of lore. You believe this must either be the living room or the study. It isn't until you crane your head over your right shoulder that you realize there's a fourth person in the room.

The man is wearing shoddy jeans, a plaid collar shirt, and a beige vest. Atop his head is a battered old baseball cap. He looks mildly uncomfortable when you meet his eyes.

"So..." You begin once you turn back to the front. "Now that you have me sufficiently trapped. I believe we can start with the twenty questions." In your current state of mind, you can't help the sarcasm leaking in your tone.

From the looks of everyone here, you doubt you're in any immediate danger. It seems all your captors want is information… for now. You'll play the role of an obedient prisoner; you've nothing to hide anyway. Besides… there's quite a bit you can learn here. Haven't you been dying of curiosity for the past few days?

The two men look at each other, unprepared with your cooperative behavior.

"Uh... okay." The hunter you remember as Sam shifts his weight to his other leg. "How about we start off with your name."

"Alice," you say simply.

Sam gives a slow nod. "Alice what?"

You shrug. "Just Alice. I don't have a last name."

Dean makes a face. "C'mon. Everyone has a last name."

You expire a sigh. "My name is Alice, just Alice because I was an orphan. The orphanage that took me in told me I was dropped on their doorstep with nothing but the name Alice sewed over my blanket. So no last name. However, if you want, I can give the serial number they gave me when I was entered into the system." You watch the faces of the two men twist with chagrin. You can practically feel the awkwardness rolling off them.

"I'm sorry to hear that..." Sam mutters.

You resist the urge to roll your eyes. "Please. It was hardly a tragic experience. The staff members were all quite nice to me. I was cared for, had a warm roof over my head, and plenty of food. I should probably send them some flowers."

Dean flexes his jaw, seeming much less sympathetic. "The spell you used when you poofed out on us. If you're not a witch, how are you able to use magic?"

The edge of your mouth twitches and you're instantly conscious of the staring angel to your left. "I didn't exactly _poof_ out. I was there the entire time. The spell I used just makes me impossible to detect. I could be hanging off your back and you wouldn't be able to tell." You take a small pause. "As for the magic. It was just a simple incantation. Anyone who understood the spell and the words would be able to use it. "

You see their skepticism.

"Where did you learn all this? I doubt your orphanage was giving out magic 101."

You're unimpressed with his sardonic tone. You look down and chew your lips. The story will sound ludicrous to anyone's ears and you don't know how to explain it in a sensible light. "You're not going to believe me."

"Why don't you try us?" The scoff on Dean's face is enough indication of how he'll react. His friend, however, regards you with more sincerity.

"I have a book of spells that only I can read." Your words send their eyebrows soaring. "The book suddenly appeared in my apartment last year, and I've been studying it ever since."

Dean shoots you a look like you've just told him pigs could fly. "Right. A book of spells that only you can read magically appeared in your apartment one day. Isn't that convenient."

You shoot him a pointed look, you already said he wouldn't believe you. "I'm not lying."

The taller hunter doesn't seem to disregard your words so quickly, but he remains silent. His eyes continue to study you while he ruminates on your explanation.

"Where is this book?"

You glance to the left. The angel in the trench coat has stepped forward and looks like he's ready to take off at a moment's notice. You answer him slowly, "It's on my bookshelf in my room." Is he really planning on finding it _now_?

You blink and the angel is gone. A few seconds later, he appears again next to the two hunters, giving them a start. He looks down at his hands, and you see the familiar book bound with dark leather. The angel lifts the tome closer to view, "Is this the one?"

You nod mechanically. You don't like how he just entered your home, but you're even more alarmed by how quickly he found your apartment.

Sam and Dean move to either side of Castiel as he lifts the buckle and opens the book. Furrowing his eyebrows, he flips the pages at random. Sam tries to lean in for a better look, his face produces an equal look of confusion. "What language is that?"

Castiel shakes his head. "I've never seen these symbols before." He passes the book to Sam, who then brings it to the man in the baseball cap behind you. The angel returns his gaze to you, prompting you with the same question.

You shrug. "I don't know. All I can do is read it. I don't know how I can either. I've shown it to others. Scholars, professors, random people I've met. Hasn't worked for anyone else."

Dean crosses his arms. "And you have no idea how it just appeared in your room?"

You shake your head. "There were no signs of forced entry. Nothing of mine was stolen. I literally have not one clue. I was wary at first, but I didn't find any dangerous spells in the book either." You stare lazily at the ceiling, running through the text in your memory. "No animal sacrifice or child murder. Just a few small spells that came in handy once in a while. I even found the cure for werewolf bites in there too." You blink when you remember. "Speaking of which. How was she?"

Sam pats the side of his leg, momentarily distracted. "Uh, yeah. She's fine. No reaction to silver at all. Probably still at the hospital."

You nod, satisfied. "So, anything else?"

There's an impatient sigh behind you.

"Oh, for the love of..."

You glance at the man with the baseball cap.

"Um, Bobby? Problem?" Sam asks.

"Yeah." He gestures towards you. "Do ya really think all this is necessary?" When the boys don't answer, the man named Bobby throws his hands in the air. "From what you've told me, you've basically just kidnapped a girl, who's also a hunter by the way, hasn't hurt anyone who didn't deserve it, cured someone from turning into a werewolf and is right now answering all your questions rather compliantly."

You raise an amused eyebrow when you see the three boys looking oddly ashamed. When no one moves, Bobby rolls his eyes. "Good Lord..."

He walks up and steps over the glowing circle without a second thought. The boys are planted where they are, unsure if they should stop him. After a few seconds, they cede to let Bobby do as he likes. You gladly thank the man when he unties the last rope, rubbing your sore wrists. The cut that Uriel gave you is still bleeding.

"He's right."

You look up at the angel.

"I apologize for our treatment. You didn't deserve it."

Castiel steps towards you and you lean back. He moves his hand to your cut, evaluating your expression. Your eyes flit from his face to his hand but otherwise say nothing. He places his fingers over the bleeding wound. The flicker of strain in his eyes does not escape your notice. When his hand begins to glow, there's a flash of heat radiating from your cut. You wince, but the pain immediately fades. Once Castiel pulls away, your arm is completely healed and clean of any bloody smudges.

"Wow." You marvel at your freshly healed skin, twisting it around. "Thanks. I guess."

When Bobby and Castiel step out of the circle again, you decide to stand up and stretch. Glancing over to the hunters, their expressions tell you that they have more questions. You decide to continue your complacency and sit back down. "Okay, so what else would you like to know?"

The two men are taken aback as your obedience still appears to be a foreign trait. Unwilling to wait for the speechless hunters, Bobby decides to speak. "When you were captured by the demons the other night, did you happen to know what they were trying to do?"

Your brows knit as you try to recall the events. "All I know is that they were going on about breaking some seal called Agiel. They needed the cup and three more ingredients to break it: the blood of a newborn vampire, blood of a freshly turned werewolf, and the blood of a human. They brought in a mature vampire and werewolf to turn the two girls they kidnapped. One of them we saved, the other one, I reckon you buried. I was the last one."

Dean breaks out of his daze, his mind beginning to piece together the information. "They didn't know you weren't human."

Your face falls. "Okay. I'm still not saying _that_." You shoot the angel a disbelieving look. "I'm gonna need more proof than just angel boy here's say-so."

Castiel opens his mouth to interject but is cut off by Sam.

"Speaking of which. If you were able to use your spells, why didn't you get away? How did you even get captured?"

"I was investigating them!" you say defensively. "There hasn't been this much demon activity since... ever! The only way I could think of to get more information was to _let_ them capture me." _Which unfortunately led me to you guys._ You look to the ground and trail off. You don't know what else the hunters can possibly ask for. You've pretty much told them everything pertinent… unless they wanted to start dissecting your orphan childhood. Perhaps it's your turn to get some information. You peer up to examine their thoughtful faces. "You guys know what's been going on, right? Who's this Lilith, and why are there so many demons running around?"

The men exchange looks, wondering whether or not they should tell you.

"Lilith is the first demon ever created by Lucifer, and she's been breaking seals around the world in order to release him from his cage."

Your eyes widen.

Dean and Sam turn their heads to Castiel with vexed expressions, unhappy with the way he just spilled the beans. The angel looks back, slightly confused. "I see no disadvantage to her knowing this."

The rest of their conversation falls on deaf ears. Your brain is still having trouble adjusting to what had just been said. You wonder for a moment with the sincere belief that you must have misheard. "Lucifer." You mouth out. Even wrapping your lips around the name feels strange. "As in, the devil, Lucifer?"

Castiel nods.

You stare at the four of them, scanning their faces. From the men's reactions, the angel probably isn't lying. _Oh, what the hell_. Demons exist, and now, so do angels. You've been living much of your life as a hunter, are you really going to be surprised by _this?_ But isn't the devil supposed to be the ruler of hell? And yet he's in a cage? Did the angels put him there? Or… _God,_ possibly? If there's angels, God must then exist, right? Your forehead creases as you try to make sense of your thoughts. You think you need to brush up on your bible stories. If God or the angels threw Lucifer in a cage, then the seals they're speaking of must be something like locks…? "So how many seals does she need to break to do this?"

"Sixty-six," replies Dean.

You nod slowly. "And how many has she broken?"

The men turn to Castiel again. The angel's expression becomes grim. "We don't know exactly, but we believe she has broken more than half."

You shoot him an incredulous look.

"We're doing the best we can to stop them. So you can see why we couldn't afford to let you leave." You're pushed back again by the heated pressure of his gaze. "Not when Lilith is searching for an immortal."

You lower your head, feeling lightheaded and surreal. "Why does she want an immortal?"

Castiel tightens his jaw. "We don't know... yet."

Peering down at your lap, your mind continues its steadfast digestion. Should you trust them to protect you? Even if you escape, they'll likely just find you again. You have no idea how to ward yourself against angels, plus this Lilith character doesn't sound like something you can handle alone. The angel before you seems relatively easy to work with, but you balk at the idea of enduring the other one. Decisions, decisions. Your mind runs through the different routes you could take and the possible outcomes of each choice. You toy with various ideas before you settle for the one least risky.

"So…" you say with a measured tone. "It seems like my best course of action would be to stay here…"

You can tell the men aren't too happy with the arrangements the angels have foisted on them. Whatever their relationship with heaven or the angels, it seems shaky at best. Dean sighs, pulling a hand down his jaw. He's obviously mulling out the finer details but in general agreement. "Yep."

Sam offers you a wry grin. You suppose he thinks you're in the same boat as them now.

You temporarily quash your insecurities and push yourself to embrace the circumstances. Your interests seem more or less aligned, so the practical move right now would be to make them see you as an ally. There's still a lot more you can learn from them, and you've better chances at maintaining your safety if you secure a friendship.

"Well then." You stand up, smiling as cordially as you can. "Guess I'll be imposing on you a while longer."

* * *

 **PLEASE READ AND REVIEW! Reviewers get the healing touch from Castiel!**


	3. Dreaming Alice

When Sam and Dean first consented to you moving in with them, you had thought you'd be dwelling in the humble abode to which you were first kidnapped. To your dismay, the house you were in actually belonged to the man named Bobby, and that the two didn't really have a place of their own. Due to their jobs as hunters, they more or less just drifted from one motel to the next. Although Bobby was more than ready to house you, it was decided by Castiel that you'd be safer moving with the boys.

When Uriel returned, he was livid. Not only was the archaic circle that trapped you swept away, you were also walking around the house without any form of restraint. Castiel tried to explain you were being cooperative and had agreed to stay under supervision. After much persuasion, Uriel finally allowed you this moderate freedom, but not before burning your shoulder with an Enochian mark. He told you the mark would allow the angels to track wherever you were, and should you participate in any suspicious activity, he would have you strung up and skinned alive. You had to bite down on the inside of your cheek to stop yourself from further _incurring_ his wrath.

Once the condescending angel left, Dean suggested you fill your time researching for any occurrences similar to the unraveling of seals. In between reading up about Lucifer and Lilith, you decided to find out more about the two hunters themselves. Now that you were no longer seen as a suspicious captive, they were more or less willing to open up about themselves. When you offered to pay for delivery, they became especially talkative.

You discovered that the two men were, in fact, brothers and that their last name was Winchester. Unlike you, they got into hunting because of a family tragedy. All they were willing to say was that they lost both their parents to a yellow-eyed demon, one that they've successfully killed. However, when you asked them why they didn't quit once they've exacted their revenge, they explained that there was still work to be done. You noticed a hint of guilt in their words and a certain tension in their midst, but you didn't press.

After dinner and a few beers, Castiel materialized back in the living room with the sole mission of babysitting you.

…

"So," you ponder aloud, throwing another tank top into your duffle bag, "Am I supposed to be the type of immortal that's invincible, or am I easily killable like anyone else?"

"I'm not sure."

Since your arrival, Castiel has planted himself by the bedroom window and has yet to move. You're also aware that he's been staring at you for just as long. To be more accurate, you'd find his gaze following you whenever you're in the same room. And like always, his gaze is strained, looking as though he's laboring to solve an extremely difficult puzzle. Needless to say, this behavior makes you uncomfortable. And though you've been doing your best to ignore it, it's easier when there are other people in the room.

As of now, due to unavoidable circumstances, you find yourself forced to bear the angel's scrutiny. Having needed some of your belongings to ease the house-arrest, he offered his protection as well as his mode of transportation.

Castiel frowns, looking away from you for the first time. "Your situation is different. Although your mark dates back to biblical times, its source, a blade of heaven, has long been destroyed. The only way for you to have received the mark would be if you, _yourself_ , had been there physically." His eyes flicker back to you, bearing with it its pressure. "But as we discussed earlier, you've only lived for 25 years."

Your eyebrow twitches, finding his latter comment oddly belittling. "Then, the only way to tell which type of immortal I am would be when I die." You say coolly.

Castiel nods.

"Well, let's hope it won't come to that."

You toss your remaining necessities into the duffle and zip it up. Pulling the strap over your shoulder, you signal Castiel that you're all ready to go. The angel materializes only inches away, so close you can see the flecks of gold in his irises. Your eyes widen and you reflexively lean back. You don't think Castiel is aware of the notion of personal space, and the unguarded manner in which he focuses on you is unnerving. It's like staring into a sun… that's staring right back, and somehow it draws out your own vulnerability as if your deepest thoughts and emotions are suddenly open for the world to see. It's painfully personal, and you immediately wish one of you is wearing sunglasses.

He places his hand on your shoulder and a grimace flashes across his visage again. After the vertigo passes, you open your eyes. You're now standing in Bobby's guest bedroom.

You scan the angel's face when he removes his hand. Castiel looks vaguely despondent as his hand draws his own gaze.

"Am I hurting you?"

His eyes fly to yours. "I don't understand what you mean."

You chew your lip at his expectant stare. "When you grabbed my arm that time at the warehouse and every other time you've touched me since… You always look like you've received a shock… or something..." You catch him glancing at his hand again before he quickly pulls it from view.

"It's nothing. And no, you're not hurting me." Castiel doesn't meet your gaze. You wonder if this is how he acts whenever he has something to hide. Perhaps angels aren't good at lying. It's an oddly endearing mannerism, being so childlike. But your amusement falters when you cast the same demeanor on Uriel. Inwardly shuddering, you ban the image from your mind. _No, not endearing at all._

You turn away from him and throw your duffle onto the bedside table. Stretching a bit, you plop onto the mattress covers and look up at the ceiling. While Castiel situates himself near another window, your eyes trace over the minute cracks and dents that blemish the paint, absently wondering how old the house is and if a renovation would be a worthwhile investment. The line of a crack leads your eyes down the walls to the window pane, directing your attention to the angel again. You wonder if he likes lounging by windows.

"So this is what you angels do? Stop demons and boss humans around?"

Given his orders to watch you, you doubt Castiel will be leaving anytime soon. You figure you might as well make small talk. It won't be any skin off your nose if you just happened to discover some useful information about angels. You've always found this to be the shrewdest of your traits, but the motivation behind it is purely self-preserving. Had Uriel been as cordial, you would have invited the conversation with genuine interest rather than calculated prodding veiled under glib curiosity.

"Our primary mission has always been to protect humanity. Due to Lilith breaking free from Hell and her efforts to start the apocalypse, we felt compelled to intervene." He makes a slight pause. "Even if we—as you say— have to _boss_ a few humans around."

You pull yourself upright and give him a funny look. "Is that really your primary mission? To protect us? Because it feels like your friend, Uriel, would have a field day if the apocalypse were to wipe us out."

The man frowns. "Uriel's methods can be... severe, but he is loyal to the mission as all angels are." Castiel glances down at his hands, casting shadows over his eyes. Whatever's running through his head doesn't seem to be pleasant, and it's shown clear as day on his face. His appearance would garner immediate sympathy from any onlookers, and you suddenly picture a throng of women leaping to console the brooding angel. "And since Uriel is currently in command, you may have to bear with his methods a bit longer."

You inwardly groan, but his last words catch your attention. "Currently? Who was in command before?"

Castiel keeps his gaze lowered. The kicked-puppy look is turned on Max. "I was."

You raise your eyebrows. "What happened?"

The angel makes an uncomfortable noise in his throat. "I was demoted due to my lack of... _resolution_. My superiors did not approve of how I handled myself during the breaking of the seal of Samhain." He slowly brings his eyes to meet yours, accepting his shortcomings. "It was my fault the seal broke."

You latch onto his gaze a while longer before you can no longer withstand its honesty. Looking away, you swallow a certain heaviness in your throat. His confession is sobering, and you drop the attempt to wheedle any information out of him. It's almost like taking advantage of an innocent, wide-eyed child… who's physically more powerful than you and is acting as a probation officer. You give a discomfited sigh, feeling quite muddled at the moment. Although, the last few minutes is an eye-opener of his character. "Sam and Dean explained to me what happened…"

Castiel is silent. When you sneak a look at him, he's waiting with a bracing expression, as if expecting you to give a similar verdict for his failings.

 _God, those eyes._ You find it hard to even tease him. While the cause for such stringent self-discipline concerns you, your lips twitch into a lopsided grin. The story the brothers told you is vastly different, and while it doesn't exactly paint the angels in a virtuous light (which gives you a migraine at the irony), one of the two's conduct was considerably more reprehensible than the other. You'd sooner kick yourself before supporting such a callous and self-defeatist mindset.

"For the record, trading a seal in return for the lives of a thousand people is a much better show of _resolution_ than your superior's approach." You shrug, carefully gauging his expression from the corner of your eyes. "But I guess they would disagree."

"They do," Castiel says, pausing to make a strange face. He dithers, seeming unsure of what to say. When he finally settles on something, he looks up again with his eyes a few shades lighter. "But, thank you. Your words are... comforting."

You laugh out at his awkward gesture. You wonder how he'd react to a full blown gushing compliment. "Happy to help."

He nods, but the clumsy mannerism abruptly drops and the softened gaze is wiped from his face. The man cants his head, noticing a sound you can't hear.

He stands up. "I have to go," he says simply, his stony look back in place.

The mood change prompts your own vigilance, and you stare at him for an explanation.

"I am being summoned." Without another word, Castiel vanishes.

You blink a few times, still adjusting to angels popping in and out at will. When the silence settles, you look around and realize you're alone. The exhaustion you've staved off for the past few days rushes back like water from a broken dam, dropping sudden weights over your shoulders and eyelids. You let out an exaggerated sigh and kick off your boots. Crawling under the covers, you don't even bother changing out of your day wear. God knows what will be blowing into your life now that you're involved with angels and demons.

~Castiel P.O.V.~

When I touch down in Heaven, I linger for a bit.

The gateway into Heaven's inner sanctum is the never-changing Sunday morning of a young Japanese girl. The piece of Heaven that she created for herself before her untimely death is a frozen moment from her happiest memory. A few meters from where I stand is a grand cherry blossom tree. I can see her sitting on the grass at the base of the trunk. On her lap is her favorite picture book that her late mother read to her every night. Her attention, however, is currently possessed by a small, white, yelping terrier. Her high-pitched laughter rings through the air as her pet fills her face with wet kisses.

My eyes fall to my left hand, and Alice's words begin to echo in my mind.

 _~"…Am I hurting you?"_

 _"I don't understand what you mean."_

 _"When you grabbed my arm that time at the warehouse and every other time you've touched me since. You always look like you've received a shock… or_ _something…"~_

I wasn't lying. She didn't hurt me. Although I imagine the sensation is similar to being shocked by electrons, the feeling isn't _unpleasant_. I recall the moment I first noticed the woman and how abnormal her presence seemed…

 _There was something odd in the atmosphere as soon as I landed in the warehouse. The air was magnetized. Something was exciting the nearby organisms to an almost atomic level. Yet, I couldn't pinpoint where the feeling was coming from; it was too weak._

 _Then she stepped into view, and it was like an alarm blasted through my skull. My head was pounding. I felt I was forgetting something gravely important. But what? I kept my eyes locked on her._

 _What was she? Definitely not human._

 _I scoured the far reaches of my mind. What was I forgetting? I noticed Jimmy stirring within me, the host of the human vessel I'm currently borrowing. He felt the drumming in my head and was pained by it, but I couldn't tear my eyes away from her. There was something crucial that I needed to remember..._

 _I scrutinized her as she consoled and cured the female captive of the werewolf virus. I have never met this female before, but I couldn't scratch the nagging sentiment that something was familiar. When the woman turned to leave, every fiber of my body screamed to stop her. Before I realized, I was already in front of her._

 _I told her she wasn't human, an excuse to keep her in my sight, but it was the truth nonetheless. I reached out to grab her, but she evaded me. The woman bristled, her body language defensive. She denied my statements. I approached her again a second time, successfully making contact as I grabbed her wrist._

 _That was when I first felt it. The electric pull that stung me when I touched her skin. I immediately drew back. This was something foreign to me. Had she attacked me? There was no injury to my hand._

 _I scrutinized her again. What was she? What was this familiarity? I reached out for her before I knew what I was doing. I looked down at the thin wrist trapped in my grip, and then it dawned on me. Etched into her skin was the mark by the Blade of Fire, the mark of an immortal._

I pick up my feet and walk towards my expected rendezvous point. Stepping into a cluster of trees that lined the edge of the girl's Heaven, the scenery abruptly shifts. Instead of the previous verdant surroundings, I'm now standing within the room of a polished office building. Through the maze of hallways, the walls and ceilings are suffused with white. What little decor there is are placed with meticulous symmetry. Not a speck of dirt or dust can be found. I don't know why, but I never liked it. Not that soldiers of the Lord should take any preference in architectural decor. It just feels... suffocating.

When I round the corner to my superior's office, I find that Uriel is already there waiting for me. He gives me a curt nod before I turn my attention to our commanding officer.

"Good to see you, Castiel."

I nod. "It's good to see you too, Zachariah."

The vessel my superior has taken is that of a middle-aged man. Although he's senescent and nearly bald, there is a certain expressive quality in his face and stature that seems to suit Zachariah's nature.

My commanding officer leans back in his chair. "I hope all is well with the immortal that is currently under your administration." He says with a smile.

I lift my head in affirmation. "She is being completely cooperative."

Zachariah nods. "Good, good." He then slides a warning glance to Uriel. "And remember, no harm is to come to her."

Uriel scowls. "I still do not understand. If the demons need her to free Lucifer, why do we not simply destroy her? Even with the Immortal Mark, Heaven's arsenal is filled with weapons that will render her to dust at a touch."

Zachariah smiles again but his gaze hardens. "All in due time, my dear Uriel. She is vital in the ultimate plan in stopping Lucifer. So until that time comes, not a hair on her head, understood?"

Uriel cedes, his frowning expression stilled. "Understood."

Zachariah turns his eyes to me, "And you, Castiel, are to keep guarding her. Succeed in this task, and you can be redeemed to your old station."

I bow my head in accordance, though my thoughts are more unsettled. Perhaps, I should be relieved or simply just accepting of my orders like I always am. Yet, I feel despondent. I seem to have lost my previous imperative for the role, and I'm unsure if regaining my former post matters much to me. A realization that is strange in itself. We follow orders because that is what we're made to do, why would any feelings appear regarding the matter at all?

"Now onto the pressing matters." Zachariah's expression darkens. "It has come to heaven's attention that someone is killing angels."

My face darkens. I remember the dismal scene I had discovered a few days ago. There was a sudden burst of turbulent energy that drew my attention to the area, and what I found in its wake was so much worse. The empty vessel of one of my sisters laid broken in the middle of the highway. A shadow of her wings, the symbol of her angelic origins and her unfathomable death, scorched into the asphalt beneath her. This was the real reason for which I was summoned.

"Do you have any information as to who or what is doing this?" I ask.

Uriel grows tense. "No demon alive is known to be powerful enough to kill an angel. And the one person who has the means and motive to destroy us is still currently locked in his cage."

"Yes, yes. All facts known to everyone." My superior officer nods impatiently. "However, if a demon has somehow gotten its decrepit hands on an angel blade, then the situation is a little more problematic."

Uriel and I exchange looks of disbelief. But then again, what other explanation is there?

"You must get to the bottom of this at once."

I wait for further instruction. If a demon is killing my brethren, then he shall receive no mercy.

I watch as Zachariah stands from his seat. "We have already captured the demon called Alastair. I want you to get Dean Winchester to extract the information we need."

I feel my earlier determination falter. "With all due respect, it was Alastair who tortured Dean Winchester when he was dragged to hell, the same Alastair who broke him into unraveling the first seal. I do not believe he will take to this task willingly."

Zachariah circuits around his desk, bringing the full weight of his authority towards me. "Castiel, you have already been warned regarding this unhealthy sentimentality you seem to bear for this human." He leans in, pressing down against me with an unyielding gaze. "Your brothers and sisters are _dying_. We saved Dean Winchester from hell. He owes us his existence. So do whatever you have to do to _make_ him take to this task."

My orders are absolute. I cannot disobey. Zachariah is right after all. To save the lives of many, the feelings of a single man shouldn't be of concern. "I understand," I say simply.

My commander leans back, appeased with my compliance. "Good, you are dismissed."

…

By the time I arrive back at the gate, Uriel is already gone. With the angels dying, he must feel even more on edge. Not to mention our only lead to finding the culprit now rests on the ability of a mortal man.

I sigh.

Uriel's clear distaste in working with the two men runs fresh in my mind. I understand the human race is a flawed species, but I'm unable to feel the same contempt that Uriel harbors. I've seen the mistakes the men made, and the mistakes they're still making. I've also seen the thoughts in their mind, their desires, their fears. But past all the chaos, guilt, and pain, there is something strangely enthralling about them… about _all_ humans _._

I exit from the hallway and arrive at the gateway again. I'm greeted by the same cluster of trees and the splattering of sunlight pouring over me through the foliage. As I take a few steps forward, I hear a far-off sound. I glance towards the girl and her puppy. Strange. It's not coming from them.

The voice rings again, drifting like a lost echo in the wind. My feet carry me into the open as I try to chase the sound. I strain my ears, turning back and forth so I might catch it again. When the call finally arrives, I recoil from it. Instead of a thread-like whisper, its volume has crescendoed to a thundering boom, calling my name like a cracking whip. I grab onto the sides of my head in pain, trying to block the noise. But no matter how I press my palms against my ears, the booming continues, bludgeoning my mind with each vibration. I squeeze my eyes shut, feeling my vessel's blood boil in its veins. The explosion comes again and I lose my balance, but through the pain, I sense myself being pulled through space as Heaven's presence fades away. When I touch down on solid ground, the roaring suddenly stops. Straightening, I open my eyes and look up.

I'm back in Alice's bedroom.

My eyes dart around the space, searching for the source of the excruciating summoning. An instant later, my vision hones in on the sleeping figure under the sheets. I stare transfixed at the unconscious girl.

Was it her? Did she call me in her _sleep_? I swallow hard. I've never experienced a call as agonizing as _that_.

Alice is restless in her slumber, tossing and turning. She seems to be mumbling something. I narrow my eyes in curiosity, deciding to draw closer.

 _"Erus... Crioati... Erus..."_

I freeze, my alarm sharpening my senses to a serrated edge. Alice is speaking _Enochian_. How does she know the language and why didn't she tell me? The mumbling continues, and I decide to push aside my misgivings for the moment. Drawing next to her bedside, I fixate on her words.

 _"Ss… Crioati... Erus..."_

Something about breaking and ... curse? I listen again with doubled focus.

 _"Crioati... mmm… Erus ay…mmmghmm… crioati..."_ Her face twists into a grimace and her words slur into incoherence. I place a hand against the headboard and lower myself. The distress on her face intensifies.

 _"Erus ay crioati… aghh…. Er **us…** ay **cr** … **io** ati... mmhmmm... **Er** …gughh… **us** ay crioati... sss… ah… Sssoo… aghhh…. **Sovem**... ugh… **Soveminl**... **Castiel!** "_

Pain slices through my mind and I back away. Taking a sharp breath, I regather my senses. Distancing myself seems to have dampened the pain, and judging from Alice's expression, she's experiencing a similar effect.

My lips draw back in a grim line. Alice just said my name, my _true_ name, in Enochian. _How_ does she know this? And _what_ is happening? Beating back the rising frustration, I repeat her disjointed words in my head.

 _To break, curse, remember...?_

I dither in spot for another moment, trying to form a logical answer from the string of cryptic and barely intelligible words. When my mind can no longer endure its attempt to make rhyme or reason of her utterings, I oscillate between risking another approach and staying my distance.

A mild split now mars her brows and her words are falling softer and softer. With each breath, the mumblings disappear. I can't contain my curiosity. I must see what she is dreaming. I capture her bedside once more and reach forward to touch her forehead. When my fingers make contact, the same shock that's greeted me makes its welcome again, but this time, the ferocity is multiplied ten folds. The jolt travels up the length of my arm then my neck, only to burst when it reaches my mind. I'm blown back from the sheer force, eyes widening as I glimpse Alice's awakening.

With a wild and alarmed gaze, her irises glow an unnatural hue of shifting colors.

 _" **So** Ve **mINl**!"_

I land wobbly on my feet. Luckily, the blast wasn't strong enough to send me crashing into anything. When I have my bearings, Alice is sitting upright.

~Alice's P.O.V.~

You wake with a start, feeling as if someone had just flicked you in the face. Holding your head with a groan, you force your tired eyes open.

"Castiel?" You breathe out when you see the angel standing frozen a few feet from your bed. "What are you doing here?" You become wary when you see the alarm in his expression.

The blue-eyed angel is statue-like. His lips are pressed into a grim line and the muscles in his jaw grow taut. "You were speaking Enochian."

You rub your face in an attempt to clear away the haze. "What?"

"You were speaking Enochian in your sleep, Alice," Castiel repeats, sounding stressed. "You summoned me here."

When you don't respond he walks to your bedside, keeping his searing gaze trained on you.

You feel increasingly confused, and it isn't the sleep deprivation.

Castiel places a hand on the bedpost as he leans over you. His gaze is piercing, accusing even. "You called out to me, spoke my true name in Enochian and brought me here." He searches your face, looking for any flashes of recognition.

You draw a blank.

Castiel's brow furrow. His eyes trail to his hand gripping the bedpost, seemingly lost in thought. "You were able to _drag me_ from Heaven..."

You raise your eyebrows, feeling confounded and with little intelligible words at your disposal. "Um..." You immediately regret opening your mouth when it snaps Castiel's attention back to you. "…Sorry?"

His gaze darkens. "I need you to remember, Alice. You were telling me something about breaking a curse. And you kept repeating the words 'to remember'."

"Isn't that ironic." Your remark falters at his expression. _Jeez._ You really rather not deal with this when you've just woken up. Ceding, you close your eyes and your face scrunches in concentration. You try to drudge up any memories matching his recount. Dark swirls of colors emerge in your psyche, lined with feelings of restlessness and anxiety. You try to pick apart the mental blur, but when the effort returns with empty results, you push out a defeated sigh. "I'm sorry, Castiel, but I don't remember anything." Your eyes soften when you see his frustration. "I've never been able to remember my dreams."

Castiel contemplates for a moment. "Will you let me help?" He takes his hand from the bed post and holds it in front of you. "I may be able to access your subconscious if you allow me to touch your mind."

Let a stranger access the inner-workings of your mind? The very idea repels you. You've admitted that you've no secrets and you stand by that assertion. But to volunteer your memories and emotions? All things deeply personal and are the very makeup of who you are... A hefty demand would be a light way of calling it. Somehow, you doubt the angel even knows how much of an invasion his request it.

You make a reluctant noise in the back of your throat, but his desperate eyes stop you an inch before you refuse. Whatever you said while you were asleep must have really perturbed him. The tight line of your mouth twinges and a back and forth wrestle breaks out in your head. From the struggle, fragmented thoughts echo and bounce around in your skull.

 _I have a right to my privacy! …But possible end of the world…? I'll be leaving myself vulnerable! …But this could be a key clue!_ _…But… revealing everything to someone I_ barely _know…_

You glare into the ruffled fabric of your blanket.

 _Goddamn seals, goddamn angels…_

Scowling, you force your jaw to unlock. "Fine. Go right ahead."

Unaware of the lenience you've just allowed him, Castiel brings his hand towards you. His fingers twitch when they touch the center of your forehead. You wait for some kind of response. Surely, you would feel an indication if the angel has made a connection with your psyche… You wonder if you'll regret this decision later on.

After a few more seconds of nothing, you peer over to Castiel's strained grimace. He draws back, looking more confused than ever.

"I don't understand." He scrutinizes you with the same arduous-unsolvable look. "There's something blocking me… like a wall of some kind protecting you."

Your shoulders sag with relief, but the emotion is blemished by a touch of disappointment. _All that anticipation for nothing._ Just as you open your mouth, the sound of footsteps approaches your door. The knob turns, swinging the entrance open. At the threshold appears Sam and Dean.

"What's going on?" Dean raises an eyebrow at the scene before him.

Sam looks back and forth between you and Castiel. "This house is old, so sound travels easily. We were worried something happened... Cass?"

The angel straightens himself. "Alice summoned me in her sleep," he deadpans. "She was speaking Enochian. I was trying to help her remember."

The edges of Dean's lips twitch. "You were dreaming about Cass?" The hunter grins suggestively. "What are you, Stockholm syndrome?"

You shoot him a look. "Not like that, you pervert." At which Dean chuckles. "Castiel said I was saying something about breaking a curse?" You look to the angel for verification. At his nod, you turn back to the Winchesters. "Not that I can remember any of it..." You narrow your eyes. "And the next time you decide to barge into a lady's room, don't. You guys need to learn how to knock." All the drama has made you snappish.

Dean rolls his eyes while Sam is looking apologetic. "Sorry, we were worried."

You pull the covers away and leap off the bed, feeling more or less awake. You turn to Castiel. "So what now?" Your expression becomes laggard. "Are we gonna keep at this trying-to-break-into-my-mind thing?"

Castiel deliberates for a moment, his eyes flickering back to the Winchesters. "No." He turns to Dean with a hardened look. "I've been given orders."

Dean loses his previous humor. "What is it?"

"We need your help, Dean. And you're not going to like it."

* * *

 **PLEASE READ AND REVIEW! Reviewers get a bedside visit from Castiel!**


	4. Kings, Queens, and Jacks

**PLEASE READ AND REVIEW!**

* * *

You slam the book shut with irritation, startling the older man in the baseball cap a few feet from you. You pull your hands over your face and rub your eyes. "I swear to God, if I have to read one more page on how Lucifer is evil in 18th century English, I'm going to shoot myself!"

Recovering from the sudden clamor, Bobby looks at his book again and gives a wry chuckle. "Yeah, those texts aren't easy on the eyes. People back then were quite uh ... sermon-y." The humor quickly fades from his eyes when he remembers.

You look down at your hands, feeling useless yet unable to sit still.

After Sam and Dean so rudely barged into your room, Castiel explained his orders to Dean. Angels were _dying_ , and the hunter was to find out who through a demon named Alastair… in any means possible.

You frown at the memory.

It was only a second after that Uriel appeared. Even with Dean's firm refusal, the two angels gave no compromise. Uriel had grabbed him before Sam could react and disappeared along with Castiel. You were idle, having no idea what to do. You watched as Sam cursed and paced out of the room with worry. When you tried to follow, he demanded that you stay behind, stating that _he_ would take care of it. You silently observed from the top of the stairs when Bobby, too, was shunned. With heaviness in his shoulders, Sam walked out the door.

…

You look at the ticking clock on the wall. It's been a whole day and there are still no messages from either of the Winchester brothers. You noticed Bobby had been staring at the same page for over twenty minutes. The man must be worried sick. You glare down at your pile of books on Lucifer, Lilith, and the few articles on Enochian symbols. Pushing them off your lap, you bolt up.

"I'm gonna go make some tea," you say. If you kept idle for another minute you feel you might go stir-crazy.

Bobby nods absentmindedly. "Tea sounds good."

You stride into the kitchen and search the cabinets until you find a teapot. You're pleasantly surprised to find loose chai tea leaves in a metal container. From what you've seen of Bobby, you took him for the bare minimum kind of guy. While you wait for the water to boil, you sneak a quick glance at the veteran hunter. Despite the circumstances, you're still quite grateful to the man for housing you. If it weren't for Bobby, you doubt the arrangements prepared by the angels would be very agreeable.

You've never had much trouble making friends since most people you encounter find you rather pleasant to be around. It's not to say you've never made enemies, but you've noticed you sometimes have a _disarming_ effect on others. On multiple occasions, people have told you how difficult it was to stay angry or irritated or sad when they're near you, and you're ashamed to admit you've exploited that knowledge more times than you'd like. This time, be it Bobby's kindness, your own effect, or some combination of the two, you have no intention of taking advantage of the man, and if you can help it, the brothers by extension—since he obviously cares deeply about them.

A beeping ringtone cuts through the silence followed by the sound of fumbling. You peer back into the study as Bobby nearly knocks off half the things on his table to reach for the phone.

"Hello?" Bobby stills as he listens with rapt attention. "Is he ok? ...Where? ... I'll be right there—No, Sam! I'm coming and that's final. ...Watch him for me."

Beep.

The man leaps from his desk. He grabs the car keys hanging off the wall and looks at you. "Forget the tea. Dean's in the hospital. You coming?"

Without another word, you turn off the stove and follow him out the door.

The whole drive to the hospital, Bobby berates to you about the two boys. He complains at how careless they are, how bull-headed they can be. How they never listen when he tells them to be careful, and all the asinine drama that constantly pops up between the two of them. You inwardly smile as Bobby continue his rant.

There is so much love he feels for the boys; they're family. You wonder if Sam and Dean know how much Bobby cared for them. You're a little jealous. When you finally reach the hospital, Bobby is so hasty he jumps out of the car and slams the door shut without taking his keys. By the time you unbuckle your seat belt, Bobby is halfway to the hospital entrance. You grab the keys in his stead and make sure to lock the car before you head after him. When you reach the front desk, Bobby is already gone.

You greet the woman behind the circular counter. "Hello. I'm looking for a Dean Winchester. He was brought in a few hours ago."

"Hold on." She looks through her computer for the name, the light from the screen reflects off her square-framed glasses. "Sorry. There's no one here by that name. You're sure it's this hospital?"

You take in a deep breath. They must have used aliases. Looking back at the expectant woman, you ask her if she saw an old man with a beaten-up baseball cap walk in here just moments ago. Her eyes give you a probing once-over before she directs you to the same room she had told him. You readily thank her and take off. As you turn the hall after the stairs, you immediately see Sam and Bobby deep in conversation in the waiting room. They're so engrossed in their discussion they don't notice you. You hear bits and pieces of their exchange to know that Dean is hurt badly.

The demon he had interrogated somehow escaped his restraints and throttled the hunter into a pulp. Sam mentions that Castiel was the one who drew the demon circle from which Alastair broke out of.

You walk towards the patient rooms, counting off the numbers up to Dean's. When you approach his room, the sound of his voice stops you mid-stride.

"Is it true? ... Did I break the first seal? ... Did I start all this?"

"Yes." You hear Castiel's quiet voice. Silence ensues, presaging, _damning_.

A voice inside you tells you to leave, that this conversation is much too private for your ears, but another part of you is not so convinced. You could _learn_ something. And with the stakes growing higher, you're not about to let go of valuable information on the sense of propriety. Quelling the conscientious voice, you move to press your body against the wall beside their door.

"When we discovered Lilith's plan for you, we laid siege to hell. And we fought our way to get to you before you—"

"Jump started the apocalypse." The words ring with hollow numbness.

"But we were too late."

"Why didn't you just leave me there then?" You've never heard a man so hoarse, so _fractured_. You can only imagine what kind of expression he's making.

"It's not... blame that falls on you, Dean. It's fate."

You close your eyes, starting to feel lightheaded.

"And the righteous man who begins it… is the only one who can finish it. _You_ have to stop it."

There is a choking pause.

"Lucifer? The apocalypse? What does that mean?" Dean's voice breaks. Unable to hold back his emotions, a flood of agony and self-loathing assaults your hearing. "Hey! Don't you go disappearing on me, you son of a bitch! What does that mean?"

You get up from your wall and walk away, unable to stomach any more of their conversation.

…

You stand frozen in the middle of your motel room.

"Sam?" You call out again, turning another 360 degrees in hopes that the man would just show up. Your eyebrows scrunch in confusion.

It's been a day since Dean's hospitalization, and while you and Sam have been waiting in a nearby motel for Dean to recover, Bobby had to return to Sioux Falls upon receiving an urgent call from another hunter. The two of you decided to spend the time doing further research. The apocalypse, seals, Lilith, anything you could scrounge up. The conversation between Dean and the angel has imbued you with a heavy dose of sobriety, and you're no longer able to meander about lightheartedly.

Just a few minutes ago, you and Sam were discussing a possible case of another seal breaking. You left to use the adjoining bathroom only to return to an empty room. Did Sam suddenly leave? You certainly didn't hear the front door open or close.

You look over to the desk he was sitting in just moments ago. His laptop is still open with a steaming cup of coffee to its left. Your brows furrow when you realize Sam's phone and keys are still lying on the bedside table next to his jacket. You walk to the door and open it. Peering outside, you see the Winchester's Impala sitting right where it was parked last night. There is a creeping paranoia in your stomach. You move to grab the car keys off the table.

"You won't find Dean at the hospital either."

You whip around at the sudden voice. Startled and on guard, you eye the middle-aged man in front of you. You realize you had left the door slightly ajar, but you heard no footsteps indicating his arrival. You narrow your eyes. "Who are you?" Your voice is more hostile than you expect.

The balding man gives you a playful look, holding up his hands as a sign of peace. His dark-suited appearance portrays the character of a patronizing diplomat. "I apologize for startling you, but there's no need to be afraid." There is an impish grin on his face when you remain defensive. "My name is Zachariah, and I am an angel. You may have met my subordinates, Castiel and Uriel?"

You blink in surprise. Hearing Castiel's name, you begin to lower your guard. "You're their boss?" You make a mental halt and shake your head of the technicality. You've more important things to focus on. "Where are the Winchesters? What've you done with them?"

Ignoring you, the middle-aged angel looks around the old motel room with disdain. He quickly hides the scrutiny with a half-hearted expression of nonchalance. With a snap of his fingers, a polished leather armchair appears behind him. You quirk an eyebrow at the show of indulgence. Sam's empty chair is only a foot away from him. The angel sits down and with a wave of his hand, the door to your room closes, jerking your attention to the apparent loss of freedom. You begin to feel increasingly on edge.

"Wouldn't want outsiders to hear our conversation. It would probably put us in a compromising position."

You pull your eyes back to Zachariah, and you notice he is scanning you with a measured look. His gaze holds a certain unsettling interest as he watches your rising tension.

"I'm not going to hurt you, you know. And you needn't worry about Sam or Dean. They're currently undergoing a... rehabilitation of sorts to uh... rekindle their willpower."

Your frown deepens into a glare, not buying his story. "Where are they?" You ask again.

Zachariah exhales and his smile becomes patronizing. "They're currently in the Big Apple, living the dream, with no recollection whatsoever of being hunters and fighting monsters."

You pull back in confusion. "Why?"

"Because they were tired, of course!"

You suddenly recall Dean's conversation with Castiel.

"Look, here's the thing." Zachariah begins as he leans forward in his chair, fingers interlocking and elbows resting on his knees. "Dean was feeling kinda down, and he was telling Castiel that he didn't quite feel up to the job of stopping Lucifer anymore. And well, we can't really have that."

Your brows knit. "So you wipe their memories and give them a normal life instead? How would that help?"

The angel grins with a knowing look. "To show them that they can't escape fate."

Your eyes harden.

"You think they're happy now that they're living safe and ordinary lives?" The angel gives a laughing scoff. "They hate it! I can practically feel the gnawing dissatisfaction inside the two of them." Zachariah chuckles as if this whole situation was some sort of inside joke. "They will eventually see that being hunters and fighting monsters are what they were bred to do. It's destiny. It's in their blood. And when they finally accept it, we can all progress along with our roles as fate would have it." He slides his eyes to you with a pointed look. "You'll have your own part to play when the time comes."

You stare back with a stony expression. "Fate, huh?" You utter as you sit down at the edge of Sam's bed. "You seem quite confident that we'll do what you expect."

The imperious look on his face dilutes with just a speck of pity. "I can understand why this may seem a bit grating to you. People often feel indignant to the idea of how little power they actually hold over their own destinies."

You let the jab glance off you. You've played this game before. He's trying to push your buttons, poking to see where you're most tender. Memories of back alley dealings and encounters with various unscrupulous characters run through your mind. It's a behavior usually exhibited by people with power. Find out what makes your opponents tick, what gets them all hot and bothered. The first person to react loses. The fact that an angel is using such a salacious and _human_ tactic fills you with an odd amusement. The edges of your lips twitch.

"You may be surprised. Humans can become most unpredictable during times of adversity. Just when you think you've got us all figured out, we'll pull something the last minute that no one will ever see coming."

"It's adorable that you still see yourself as one of them when you're not even human."

Your confidence falters, betrayed on your face for a second. His eyes flash at the reveal. You lift your chin and regather your wits. Not yet. You've not lost yet.

This Zachariah has the eyes of a predator, and from the way he watches you, it's clear he's someone who's used to being on top. The prim-suit, the armchair; all shows of power. He's a man—or rather angel who likely has no qualms about exerting _force_ over others to get what he wants. Pride is what keeps his nose so high, and the confidence in his ability to ingrain _respect_ in the hearts of his subordinates must be what feeds his ever present ego. You wonder if his idea of respect is synonymous to _fear_. You're starting to see how Castiel became so grimly stringent and Uriel so caustic. To be under the charge of someone like _this,_ it's no wonder… You think you might like him even less than Uriel.

Letting out a humorless laugh, you return to your previous distant countenance. "I've come to terms with being immortal. Nonetheless, I've lived my entire life as a human, as is my origin, even if I don't know when I got this mark." Your eyes slide to your wrist before you give him a conciliatory smile. "So yes. I will continue to align my interests with that of humanity."

Zachariah tilts his head and smirks, revealing a string of white teeth. "Tsk, tsk, tsk. Poor little girl. You have no idea how wrong you are about yourself."

Your smile falls. Before you can demand an answer, the goading angel disappears, leaving you frustratingly in the dark. You clench your teeth in a scowl, simmering in anger. In an effort to calm your thoughts, you close your eyes.

So Zachariah has information that you don't, or he wants you to believe that he does. Either way, it's a card he's holding that you'd rather not be in his hand. How much leverage does it give him? How would he use it against you? Your nails dig into the center of your palms. You need to find out the truth. With you under heaven's thumb and Lilith on your tail, the longer you remain in the dark the more precarious your situation becomes.

You snatch your left wrist and press two fingers over the pulse, feeling the erratic beat. _Calm down, Alice. You're not defenseless._ _Just because he's privy to some secret about you doesn't mean he's got you pinned. Blood and genes are only part of a person after all…_

Finding the solid base in your mind, your pulse slows back to a steady rhythm. Sighing, you take a look around the room. Sam and Dean are still gone, and though Zachariah says they're safe, you're not likely to trust his word… _ever_. You pause. Still, there is _one_ angel you do feel like trusting.

"Castiel?" you call out, looking around the room expectantly. The celestial did say that you were able to summon him in your sleep. So it should work twice as well when you're awake… right? You spin around the room again, beginning to feel like an idiot.

"What is it?"

You jump at the sudden voice, starting to sympathize with Dean's irritation at Castiel's form of arrival. Turning around to face the trench-coated angel, you force the edges of your mouth into a polite upturn instead. The smile falls when you see his face. "What's wrong?"

Castiel cants his head, the shadows hanging off his face are darkened by an additional crease in his brow. "I don't know what you mean."

You stare at him for another second. You don't know if angels can suffer from insomnia, but the one before you looks as though he's lost a century's worth of sleep in just a few days. His face is borderline ashen, but the emotion is reigned back with a steely mask. However, his eyes betray him, and the twin blue orbs now waver with an ocean of turmoil. It doesn't take a genius to know that something's bothering him.

You sigh, cursing at how easily that look affects you. _Damn eyes._ Swallowing your self-aggravation, you decide to push aside your concerns for the moment. You rub the back of your neck rather awkwardly, keeping your gaze on the floor. "I don't know. You just seem... unsettled."

Castiel lifts his head and squares his shoulders. "Demons are trying to bring about the apocalypse. Unsettled are what all the angels should be right now."

What you meant as concern has somehow made him defensive instead. Even as you keep him in your peripherals, you can see him straighten, pulling to his full height. You don't know if the behavior is conscious or not, but you believe he wants to appear stronger, _invulnerable._ You shake your head. "No, that's not what I meant…" You trail off, wondering if it's even worth pursuing. Your irritation at yourself grows. "I don't mean to be intrusive, but it seems like you're shaken up about something more personal..."

You catch a bristle in the corner of your vision, but when he doesn't say anything, you drag your attention over to him again. You suddenly remember his request to Dean before Uriel so forcibly dragged him away. Angels are being _killed_ … You reluctantly meet his gaze, bracing yourself for what you might perceive in it. "Did you happen to find out who it was killing your friends?"

It's as though you sliced him. The distinct look of pain in his eyes, so sharp and poignant it makes you cringe. You're impressed at how well he suppressed it. You wonder if all angels are like this, displaying their private emotions so acutely upon their regard. With Uriel, it was disgust; with Zachariah, disdain; and with Castiel… discord?

The only times you'd see such unguarded eyes are in small children when they've not yet learned to deal with pain. When they grow, as all humans do, they learn to numb themselves, to rationalize, to repress, or to conceal their pain with feigned indifference and placid smiles so the world will never see how broken they really are, how broken you all are. You're struck by the realization that this one difference is caused by their own lack of experience to emotional suffering; their utter _innocence_ to the pains of humanity.

Castiel drops his gaze to the ground before you can't take it anymore. "Yes."

You begin to feel it, the wafting gloom drifting from his angelic self. The emotion is tinged in self-reproach and doubt. This is nothing like the solemnity you sensed from him a few days ago, this sentiment is much heavier… _pungent._ It's a surprise that angels can even feel this level of emotion; they always seemed so detached...

The words "what's wrong" linger on the tip of your tongue, but you clamp your mouth shut. There's an inner battle raging within you, incited by the angel's distress. The knee-jerk reaction is sympathy, but do you really want to involve yourself in his problems when you've already got a truck full of your own? And with Zachariah, Castiel's _boss_ , now on your list of potential enemies, the smart move would be to distance yourself from ange—

"It was Uriel."

Silence.

Your mind halts. All processes and thoughts have come to a screeching stop. If your brain was a machine, a few cogs might have spun off. You stare slack-jawed at Castiel. "Uriel?" you repeat as though you didn't hear him correctly, and frankly, you really think you haven't.

Castiel brings his solemn gaze to yours, his painful truth burns behind his irises and they send the piercing emotion straight at you. You look away.

"Uriel felt that there was something wrong with the orders we were given. He decided he wanted to help bring on the apocalypse." Castiel closes his eyes. "He was able to convince some of the angels from our garrison. He killed the ones who wouldn't join him."

Your mind churns, the process is not unlike how a worker might smash a crowbar against the gears of a giant machine in an effort to dislodge whatever obstruction. You can feel the metaphorical teeth of your intellect chewing against the jagged chunks of information so you may break it down, digest, and hopefully assimilate into your psyche. You've only recently absorbed that angels are _willing_ and _capable_ of killing humans, then swallowed a few days ago that they can _die_ and be _killed_ , and **now** , you're expected to force down your gullet the fact that they can also commit _murder_ against their _own_ kind? You need a stiff drink.

"And... where is he now?"

"Dead."

You can't say you're not relieved. But that twisting look on his face… You stare up at him with a discomfited expression. … _Did he…?_

"It was another angel who killed him," Castiel answers your silent question, his face morphing with regret… or is it melancholy? You're not sure which. "If she hadn't, I wouldn't be here."

So someone had saved him from the brink… You're taken aback. You didn't realize there was so much happening behind the scenes. The fact that Castiel narrowly escaped death seems foreign to you. _Why?_ You wonder. If the past few days taught you anything, it's that _everything_ has an expiry date. But the possibility of _this particular angel_ dying… makes you kind of sad…

You scrutinize the celestial before you. To your eyes, he's become a walking contradiction. He bears the body of a full-grown man but displays the vulnerability of an innocent wide-eyed child. He'd called himself your guard, even carries himself like a soldier. He's physically substantial, and yet he has absolutely no defense against emotional wounds.

Castiel, the angel who was demoted for failing to follow the execution order of a thousand humans, who showed reluctance when Dean was forced to confront Alistair, and who is now experiencing deep, personal strife because of what a former ally had tried to do. How great was the betrayal? Were they just colleagues or were they friends?

From the fact that he was punished for his empathy, you can only surmise what the heavenly order values: duty and deference, without question… and therefore without sentiment. The revelation unveils a trenchant view into their world, utterly gray and devoid of life. So angels have existed without emotion. That would explain a lot; why Zachariah and Uriel had been so callous. They've never experienced sadness. …Does that also mean they don't know happiness?

You pause. Your logic is flawed. _Clearly._ Is the angel in front of you not bursting with emotion right now? Your brain continues to labor against the discrepancy. Is this just another addition to Castiel's contradictions or is this something more? Your only other points of reference are Zachariah and Uriel. You think back to your interactions with the late celestial, remembering how the derision in his gaze seemed to mount after every meeting. Is it possible… that the longer an angel remains on Earth the more they grow to feel? You backtrack. It's quite a stretch for a hypothesis.

But if it _is_ true…

Your eyes narrow as you take in Castiel's form.

Then it'd be a shame if he died. He's only just begun to touch upon the intricacies of humanity, only skirted the outer edge of complex emotions. Grief, happiness, sacrifice, love... Your brain surges with possibilities. There's so much _potential_ here—you're getting off track.

Another thought breaches the forefront of your mind, snapping your attention and injecting you with alarm. You jerk your head towards him, your gaze hard. "I thought you said the primary mission of angels is to _protec_ t humans, and that _all_ angels are faithful to that." You don't reign back the accusation in your tone. You know your words will cut him, but a creeping premonition takes precedence.

Castiel grimaces. "That... is what I thought. It seems I was mistaken."

There's a sinking feeling in your gut. In the depths of your mind, you feel as though something has gone terribly wrong. You grit your teeth, your thoughts a whirlwind. "Why did Uriel think there was something wrong with the orders he was getting? Aren't you all directly commanded by God?"

And then you see it. The pang of pain, a face full of uncertainty. "I don't know anymore…"

You pale. Fast as lightning, you shoot across the room and grab the lapels of the angel's coat. Your actions surprise him, but you're too alarmed to evaluate your conduct. Fear thickens in the linings of your stomach and it floods your veins with urgency. Self-preservation propels you and you _need_ to know. How great is the danger here? Just how many enemies should you be watching for? You raise yourself on tiptoes and stare into his eyes, diving through their depths to search for even a hint of the thing you _don't_ want to find. You unclench your jaw. "Are you doubting your mission too? Do you no longer think humanity's worth protecting?"

Anger flares in his gaze and Castiel glares at you. "I never said that."

You keep your eyes locked on his, waiting for the signs of doubt to appear. When his fury prevails under your scrutiny, you ease back and retract your hand. He's seething, and you realize he's taken the allegation as slander. You move a few steps back and mutter an apology. You don't want to get on his bad side, especially when he's the one angel you don't have to guard against. You turn around to frown at the spot Zachariah last occupied.

Castiel's inability to shield his emotions would allow you to see through any lie, but how long before someone changes his mind? It's painfully clear that this guy's ignorant of politics, which leaves him vulnerable to mental entrapments. It would be easy for someone like Zachariah to manipulate him. Tug a few heartstrings in the right direction, mutter the lines " _for the greater good..._ ". How many virtuous people have committed unspeakable deeds because they were swayed by false words?

You glance at Sam's laptop when the screen shuts off. But, wait. You reconsider your thoughts. Why are you so ready to paint Zachariah as a villain? So he's not the humblest angel you've met, that doesn't automatically mean he's the opposition. Still, with the stakes so high, keeping so many eggs in one basket would just be tempting fate.

You turn back to Castiel, catching his attention with your expectant gaze. "If you don't know, why don't you just go see him? Go see God." The words feel odd coming from your mouth.

The angel seems to wilt. He shakes his head. "It's not that simple. Angels at my level aren't told much. We're soldiers, created to follow orders without question. Only the archangels are granted presence with God."

You think you can hear your basket of eggs breaking apart already. You step towards him, brows raised high in the most incredulous expression. You can't believe it. You _literally_ cannot believe it. "Are you telling me, _you_ , an angel, have never met God?"

Castiel surrenders a hesitating nod.

"But you've _seen_ God, right?"

His expression tightens.

Your mouth opens in a soundless exclamation, closing again when no words avail you. You bring a hand to the top of your head, threading it through your hair. You whirl back and forth, darting your vision from one wall to the other, trying to grasp the words that would convey the utter lunacy of what this angel has revealed. It's pandemonium inside your skull, and it's taking all you have to keep your composure.

"So..." you push through your teeth. "There are angels like Uriel who can just decide to go rogue. You've never even _seen_ God, so you don't know who's actually giving out orders, and there are legions of angels down the chain who will just follow these orders without question...?" You veer back to Castiel in sheer exasperation. "Am I the only person who thinks this sounds **insane**?"

Pinned under your glower, Castiel is unable to look away. Although he's trying to defend himself with a glare, you see the battle within. In the end, all he offers is a wordless silence, and your hand slips from your hair over your eyes. You throw an aggravated scowl at the walls.

 _Of all the useless…!_

You find your irritation at this celestial mounting. _Okay. Focus, Alice. You're not out of the running yet. This is information; you've just found out the rules. So what if the referee's out? It's not like you haven't played against people in a rigged game before. The opponents are just bigger… and badder… and the_ _ **planet**_ _to forfeit if you lose—Goddammit!_ You swear under your breath, letting out a long exhale before you rearrange your thoughts. _C'mon, Alice! Think of something you can use._ _Anything!_ You stiffen when a thought hits you. Slowly, you swivel in the angel's direction again. "What are _you_ going to do?"

Castiel, who had been following your movements, blinks like a deer caught in the headlights. Curiosity and confusion are written all over his face.

"If you think there's something wrong at the top of your food chain, are _you_ also just going to keep following orders?"

Castiel stares at you in a mixture of affronted shock and speechlessness. He opens his mouth but seems unable to form the words. He's obviously never been put on the spot before, especially by someone like you. "We're made to follow orders..." he utters through his teeth.

 _Then you might as well stamp the word "pawn" on your forehead._ Your temper flares, but you bite back the vicious comment. "Uriel has proven that angels can act independently."

His eyes flash, but the glare is weakened by specks of desperation. "You're asking me to commit disobedience."

You take another step forward, closing the distance between you. "Are you a machine, Castiel? Are you just a weapon, a **pawn**? Because you've shown me that angels can have wills of their own, regardless of where they are in the chain of command. But now I need to know if you'd be able to act on that will. Especially if you find out that something is wrong..." You jab at the ceiling. "Up there."

An internal struggle recommences. It's a storm within his eyes. Castiel clenches his jaw.

You keep pushing, pressing where you know will hurt the most. "You of all beings should have a conscience. To know right from wrong!"

He shuts his eyes. "Alice," Castiel says through his teeth. "To disobey is to go against our very nature."

You see the chaos inside him and you suddenly realize… despite all their holy power, angels are just as afraid. Your gaze softens and your voice lowers to a whisper. "Look at me, Castiel."

His eyes flutter open, vulnerability shining under his lashes.

"Ask yourself one question. Do you _want_ to protect us? Do _you_ think humans are worth protecting?"

Castiel's eyes widen. Your question seems to have brought about a startling revelation.

At the look on his face, you allow a small comforting smile to fall over your lips. You ease back the earlier pressure you've been piling against him. "If you have your answer, then I trust you'll do what you think is right when the time comes."

Castiel visibly relaxes. His head high again, he turns to you with an almost grateful expression. "And if the outcome isn't what you were hoping for, or if my actions happen to be insufficient."

You give him a wry grin. "All we can ever ask of anyone is their best. I trust life will take care of the rest with or without us."

…

After assuring you of Dean and Sam's eventual return, Castiel left. You're now alone in the motel room with your thoughts. You feel like you're being crushed under the weight of all you've discovered today. You find yourself sympathizing with Dean more and more. Is this what he feels like all the time? Being tossed back and forth between angels and demons. You can see why Sam is so adamant on protecting his brother.

You sink back onto your bed, setting your elbows on your knees and interlacing the fingers in front of your face. You've known for a while now that someone like Castiel shouldn't be a part of this war. And after the conversation you just had and how easily you were able to influence his thoughts and emotions, your original assertion has only been affirmed. At first glance, his appearance makes him look distant and unfeeling, but underneath… he's soft. _He's kind…_ You shake your head at the small amendment. _Kind_ … _not to mention innocent. Not exactly key traits you'd want when you're caught in a war for world domination._ You roll your eyes at the clichéd description, but what else would you call it? If the demons win, apocalypse begins and Lucifer gets the planet. And if the angels win…

You tilt your head.

If the angels win… what do they get? Just much of the same? Have the world move on as it does normally? You somehow have a hard time believing that. This entire only-archangels-get-to-meet-God business reeks worse than a dumpster full of week-old seafood.

The angels are fighting against the demons _supposedly_ under God's will. **But!** If God wanted to stop the apocalypse, to stop Lilith from breaking the seals, how difficult would it be for an all-knowing, omnipotent being to snuff out one demon? _He's_ _ **God**_ _, for goodness' sake._ …Unless he's watching all of this and _wants_ it to happen … Like some sort of test?

You close your eyes and rub your temples. You may not have been an atheist, but you didn't even know angels existed until a week ago. The very idea of there now being a _God_ who's watching all of this unfold is cracking apart your rationality like a pickaxe to a rock. You immediately shut the book on the subject. You're asking for an aneurysm if you're trying to contemplate the motive and logic of the Almighty. Erasing the mess of thoughts, you move back to the original problem: Lilith and the angels. Lilith wants you for something, or so the angels said. And after Sam and Dean explained the celestials' readiness to smite an entire town to stop one seal, you've pretty much forgone the idea that heaven is simply protecting you out of the goodness of their hearts. If the opposition wanted you to achieve an end, all the angels had to do is kill you. They've had plenty of chances, and yet they didn't take it. They even sent one of their own to guard you. That can only mean that they have their own plans for you. Castiel once told you the angels don't know why Lilith wants you and you let out a laugh. _He_ would believe that. You remember Zachariah's words.

 _~"…we can all progress along with our roles as fate would have it." He slides his eyes to you with a pointed look. "You'll have your own part to play when the time comes…"_

 _"…_ _Poor little girl. You have no idea how wrong you are about yourself..."~_

You narrow your gaze. There's something about the way he said it that makes you doubt you're going to like what the celestials have in store for you. Your dislike of Zachariah only grows as you replay the memory of him. But he _is_ right about one thing. You know way too little about this… about _you_ … about everything. So what do you _do_?

You stand up from your bed and pace the room.

Sam's coffee still sits untouched next to his laptop. _Waste not want not._ You walk over to the desk and grab the cup. The movement causes enough stir to wake the computer out of its sleep mode. You see the screen display the last webpage Sam was on, some article about missing people. Flashing on the right side of the page is an AD for an online poker game.

You give a sardonic smile. What do you do?

You hedge your bets.

An idea forms in your mind and you hush the guilty conscience. Words, actions, and possible outcomes bubble in your prefrontal cortex until they mix into a sparkling cocktail of procedures and strategies. Having help from the Winchesters is nice, but it's not going to be enough. On top of protection from Lilith, if you don't know what heaven wants from you then you need protection from the angels as well. You require _information,_ and there's only one source you can get it from. You've been hesitant because you weren't sure if the situation warranted such measures. You didn't want to risk throwing someone under the bus just to double your own security. But now, things are different. Zachariah made pretty clear on that. When your own safety's concerned, you'll fight tooth and nail to survive. But when it's the entire world… on which everything you love depends, you'll do anything to protect it… even if it means using an innocent angel.

* * *

 **PLEASE READ AND REVIEW! REVIEWERS GET AN ONE-ON-ONE DISCUSSION WITH CASTIEL!**


	5. The Mercurial Nature of Luck

**PLEASE READ AND REVIEW!**

* * *

So much for your plans.

You expire a small breath and look out the passenger window. Your thumb plays with the corner page of the book you're holding. Dean is driving and Sam is on his laptop, reading some journal article he downloaded last night. You stare off into the distance, having long forgotten which road you're on. Empty farmland stretches as far as the eye can see and the cloudy weather seems to convey your current mood perfectly.

You had been fully prepared to engage Castiel. You even came up with a mental list of all the questions you would ask and ran through different scenarios of discussions you would maneuver to your benefit. Yet, again and again, you've had to hold off your schemes because the key component is constantly absent. With Uriel's demise and the other angels he had taken with him, you suppose Castiel was left to pick up the slack.

 _Three days have passed since you confronted Castiel, and the angel still hadn't shown himself. Although the Winchesters did return as promised and with Dean fully healed, the mental state they were in didn't relieve you of any pressures. You told them of your encounter with Zachariah and they recounted a similar meeting._

 _"_ _All this fate, destiny crap. They're treating us like puppets," Dean growled out from his seat at the table. His fingers curled against the wooden edge. You were in complete agreement. Unfortunately, when you asked if Zachariah had mentioned anything about his plans for you or about Lilith, the response was a sorely disappointing no._

 _You were frustrated but not surprised. The good news, however, was that Sam and Dean liked Zachariah and his machinations about as much as you did. The angel seemed to love speaking in riddles and lording his knowledge over others. But even with all the overbearing traits, Dean was sure the angels were desperate to win against Lilith._

 _You didn't contest him._

 _While you exchanged what you learned with the brothers, you did keep a few details to yourself, namely the conversation with Castiel. With what you've seen of the men, Dean especially, the last thing you needed was to have them cause a big scene and confront Zachariah about the presence of God. If it was found out that Castiel had been the one to invoke the discourse because of his insecurities, then you'd lose the one leak you had about heaven. Besides, no matter how shady the circumstances were, you still had no proof. If you let Zachariah and the other angels know just how deep your suspicions of them ran, they might decide you were more trouble than you were worth and dispose of you all together._

 _So when you could wait no longer, you called Castiel's name. His arrival was prompt as always. Upon examining his face, you saw that the three days' absence had done him some good. His gaze was back to its stoic blue, full of confidence and certainty. He must have gotten over Uriel's death. You weren't sure if the improvement is a favorable sign. When Castiel asked why you called him, you immediately questioned his absence. He was supposed to be your guard, wasn't he? How was he going to supervise or protect you if he was away? You tried to appear as docile as possible._

 _"_ _I've been busy fighting to keep the other seals from Lilith. Our forces aren't limitless. But you needn't worry. The mark Uriel burned on your shoulder allows us to monitor your whereabouts at all times. Even if I'm not here, heaven will always be watching over you."_

 _Castiel's words nearly stopped your heart. Your face was blank; you didn't allow any emotions to show through. He must have thought you were relieved because he disappeared a second later, leaving you still in the dark and more anxious than ever._

You turn back to the book in your hand, reading the same paragraph for the third time.

Even dead, Uriel continues to be a thorn in your side. Thanks to him, your every action could be subject to scrutiny. Just how closely are the angels _watching over_ you? Now that you know you're under surveillance, you'll have to be even more careful of your words and actions.

You were hoping the Supernatural books might offer some insight, but other than a view into the Winchester's personal histories, there isn't much else you can learn. It does provide a good distraction though. Their hunts are informative and quite telling of their characters. You discovered more about their personalities in one afternoon of reading than you probably would have in a month of traveling with them.

"Don't think I don't know what you're reading back there."

You glance up from the back seat, setting the book down on your lap. You raise an eyebrow at Dean's comment. You had made sure to add an additional cover to the book so the brothers wouldn't find out. "What are you talking about, Dean?" you ask innocently.

Dean scowls. You can see his reflection in the rearview mirror. "The book you're reading. Stop it."

You raise said book, showing the cover. "You mean Twilight? It's not that bad if you give it a chance."

Dean takes one hand off the steering wheel and reaches around to snatch the book from you. Ignoring your protest, he shakes off the new cover, revealing the book's true title. He shoots you a peeved look through the mirror before tossing the book to Sam. It lands with a clutter on Sam's laptop, startling the younger Winchester who had been ignoring the two of you with his reading.

"Can't believe anyone would read this garbage."

Sam sighs. Glaring at his brother in annoyance, he opens the glove compartment and tosses the novel in. "You can't exactly call it garbage when it's talking about _our_ lives."

"Well, his writing's garbage!" Dean huffs out, his nostrils flaring. "And it's a complete invasion of my privacy. You know he put in all the times I had sex. Like _all_ of them. Who does that!?"

The three of you had just come from the town where an apparent prophet named Chuck Shirley resided. When Sam and Dean had discovered a series of books called Supernatural, which depicted their secret lives in great detail, they became adamant on finding the author. To the surprise of everyone, including the author himself, the writing of the Winchester's lives were actually prophecies.

Chuck Shirley, pen named Carver Edlund, is a prophet of the Lord, fated to record the misadventures of Sam and Dean. Someday, these books would become the Winchester Gospels. You had nearly cracked a rib from laughter when Castiel said that. During this discovery, the prophet had written out the coming events for the Winchesters, and with his help, a near disastrous situation involving Lilith was narrowly avoided.

"Hey, you heard what Castiel said. These books will one day be Gospels." Your lips twitch at the word. "It's only right that I should be reading them." You know Dean will probably throw the book in the trash later, not that you're concerned. You had actually paid Chuck for an electronic copy of all his published manuscripts behind the brothers' backs, and you'll take that secret to your grave.

Dean scrunches his lips, opening and closing them in an attempt to tell you off. He can't seem to find his words.

You tilt your head to the side, reveling in their discomfort. You're not ashamed to admit that teasing the men, Dean, in particular, has become somewhat of a favorite pastime. He just gets riled up so easily. It's also a great way to lighten the tension… _your_ tension. "I wonder what they'll name this new religion. Winchester-ianity? Winchesterism? Wincest?"

At the last word, Dean turns around and jabs his index finger toward you. "You shut the hell up right now."

You put on a pliant smile, inwardly shaking with mirth.

Dean twists back to the front, swatting the air in frustration. "I swear to God, I'm gonna burn every one of those books."

You just can't help yourself. "Soon, people will be swearing to the names of Sam and Dean."

The impala screeches to a halt.

…

"Hey guys, come look at this," Sam says, gesturing to you and Dean.

You look up from your smoothie and plate of pasta to see what Sam is looking at. Dean turns around in his chair, his mouth still full of his burger.

"Yeah, what is it?"

"That." Sam points to the wall a foot away from the table you're all sitting at. Pinned on the wall are all sorts of posters for events, advertisements, and a few missing persons reports.

You scan the print. Chris O'Reily, age 34, missing since Oct 24. Wayne Smith, age 30, missing since Sept 19. Carly Thatcher, age 28, missing since Oct 2. There are at least five more reports. You scratch the bump on the side of your head, still throbbing from hitting it on the back of Dean's seat when he slammed on the brakes. You might have loosened your seat belt a bit too much.

"They're all around the same age," you muse.

"Hmm." Dean makes a noise as he swallows his mouthful. "Missing around the same time as well. Think this is related to our line of work?"

Sam shrugs. "Dunno. But since we're here, might as well take a look."

Dean lifts his brow with a half-lidded gaze, seeming more or less in agreement. He slides his eyes to you when he notices you rubbing your head. He grins. "How's that bump treating ya?"

You stare back with a tight smile. "Like I was blessed by a Winchester."

Dean's grin drops, looking ready to throw something at you.

Sam holds up his hand between you two. "Guys, please stop."

…

After lunch at the diner, the three of you drove to the nearest motel. Sam, deciding to be the mature one, kept you and Dean from making any more jabs at each other. Although you quite enjoyed the quipping, you decided to put a pin in your fun. Everything in moderation, people always say.

You walk up to the receptionist with a slight spring in your step. It's been a while since you were last able to joke around with someone, and the feeling brings a smile to your face. With all the stress you've been under, you didn't think you'd be in such a good mood so soon. You'll have to thank the Winchesters for that.

Before Sam can pull out his wallet, you're already placing your credit card on the counter. The receptionist, seeming to be in his early 30s, studies the three of you with an inquisitive air.

"Alice, you really don't have to—"

You wave off his objections and push the plastic further across the surface. "Room for three please."

"Oh no, you don't." Dean cuts in before the man can swipe the plastic. "Two rooms. One for us," he gestures to himself and Sam. "And one just for her."

You give Dean a strange look. "Why? It's a waste of money."

"You know why." Dean mouths the words accusingly.

Sam leans slightly towards his brother with a sheepish expression. "I kinda have to agree."

You stare at the men incredulously. When they don't respond, you roll your eyes. "Fine." You relent with a huff and turn back to the clerk. "Two rooms."

After receiving your keys, you and the Winchesters part ways. Sam tells you to go to their suite once you've arranged your things. You let out a sigh as you toss your belongings onto the double bed. You really do think the boys are acting rather childish. The small incident that prompted such reactions?

In the last motel room you occupied together, you took a shower and forgot to bring a fresh change of clothes. So rather than wearing dirty laundry, you just walked out in your towel. You were all adults, and you had no desire to fake coyness and ask the men if they could pass your bag through a door slit like a teenage girl. You never expected they'd cause such a fuss over it. When they saw you exiting the bathroom as you were, Sam's eyes nearly bulged out of his head and Dean chocked into a hacking cough on his doughnut. You'd think they've never seen a woman's body before. Although, in their defense, the towel might have been a tad small.

You head out of your room and towards the one next to yours, raising a hand to knock. Sam is the one who opens the door. He moves back to the far bed to continue rummaging through his backpack. Dean is sitting at the table near the entrance with his back to you. In front of him are the copies of the missing person's reports you had gathered after lunch. He flips through the pages rapidly then writes something down in a notebook.

"Seriously, guys? Are two rooms really necessary?" you ask with crossed arms.

"Yes, they are," Dean answers matter-of-factly. He doesn't even turn around.

You close the door behind you and stalk to the chair across from Dean. "Just saying, we could've saved some money by getting the room with three beds." You sit down, shaking your head at the wastefulness. "All this just because I have a v—"

"Don't say that word!" Dean cuts you off with a glare. You notice Sam looking rather relieved and you roll your eyes again. _Boys._

"Speaking of which." Dean anchors an arm on the table and leans forward. His eyes are narrowed and his lips pursed. The appearance reminds you of an interrogation officer. "Where _are_ you getting your money, anyways? Did you work outside of being a hunter?"

Sam, who was in the middle of setting up his laptop, stops and looks your way.

Your face scrunches at Dean's ridiculous suggestion. "Are you kidding me? Of course not. How many hunters do you know work desk jobs after a day of stabbing monsters in the face?" You place an elbow onto the table and lean on it, mirroring his posture. "Hunting's a full-time job, even for an immortal like me."

Dean scoffs.

Sam sits down on the bed with a thoughtful expression. "So, how did you make enough money to support yourself? If you don't mind me asking." On the other bed are Dean's bag and jacket. He casts a glance at the wallet poking out from the pocket as if in indication. "Credit card fraud?"

"Nope." You shake your head and chuckle. You don't like stealing, particularly from people you don't know. Sometimes it's unavoidable, but you tend to use it as a last resort.

The two brothers look at you, waiting.

Your lips press together. You know there isn't much harm in telling them the truth, but you've always been reluctant about sharing this aspect of your life. Now that you've painted yourself into a corner with your thoughtless remark, you're afraid it might drive a wedge into their trust if you don't give them a straight answer. A trust that you spent a long time forging. You only want to avoid this topic because you know how they'd react, how they'd might judge you. You also don't like the reminder that you're a lot more selfish than you'd like to admit.

 _"_ _I'm telling you, with skills like that, you oughta go to the casinos and hit it big. Win one for us small folks."_

 _You chuckled and reached for the packet of M &Ms you'd just won. The poker cards laid in a heap at the center of the scratched coffee table. You ripped the seal and dropped a few of the round chocolaty deliciousness into your mouth. Your roommate of six months looked at you from across the table, his worn tennis sneakers smeared a trail of dust on the recliner's leather as he sat cross-legged. The two of you had found it on the street corner a few days before you moved in._

 _You were 18, freshly out of the system and no longer under the law's purview. With the life you lead, you had never allowed yourself to settle into whatever family the system provided for you. It was too dangerous. With Chris, however, the arrangement couldn't be better. He was 22 and a college drop-out. He loved art; digital, illustrations, graffiti. He drifted through life following whims which meant lots of freelance work and odd hours. With his lifestyle and easy-going attitude, as long as you paid your portion of the rent, he didn't care what you did, and the two of you rarely saw each other._

 _"_ _Yeah, right. They'll probably kick me out 'cause they'll think I'm counting cards or something."_

 _Chris quirked a brow at you. "Aren't you?"_

 _You tossed another few M &Ms into your mouth. "I'm not nearly that smart. It's just pure dumb luck."_

 _Chris grinned. You could tell he didn't really believe you. But with five continuous wins of two full-houses, two four-of-a-kinds, and a royal flush, you couldn't blame him. You didn't know what it was. With any game that involved chance, you'd always win. Monopoly, Snakes and Ladders, pretty much everything involving dice._

 _He rubbed his eyes. From the heaviness of the dark circles on his face, he must've pulled quite a few all-nighters this time. "Well, with luck like that, you should buy a lottery ticket."_

 _You snorted and laughed._

 _But the comment stuck with you, and you spent a good portion of the night lying in bed fantasizing about what it would be like to be a millionaire. The next morning, as you passed a convenience store, you caught the winning total for the next potential winner. You decided to take Chris's suggestion purely out of humor. The two of you would get a chuckle when the ticket turned out to be a dud._

 _But two days later, the winning numbers came out and fear struck in the pit of your stomach. You were in the local library, researching when you checked the results on a whim. You sat there staring at the computer screen and the numbers on your ticket for nearly an hour._

 _Within a week, you packed your things and left the city. When Chris returned, he would find a thank you note from you with a check enclosed._

It's been seven years since that day. You wonder where your old roommate is now.

"Uh, hello?"

You snap out of your thoughts when Dean waves a hand in front of you. You glance from one questioning gaze to the other. Both men are waiting expectantly for your answer. Sighing, you rub the back of your neck before you speak. "I, uh… kinda won the lottery a few years back."

You brace yourself for the inevitable badgering. But when neither says a word, you peer over to their faces. Sam and Dean share equally incredulous expressions and their brows are raised so high you think they might pop off entirely. The brothers are motionless as they continue to gawk at you. You tap a finger absentmindedly on the table while you wait for the response to sink in.

When they finally move again, Dean is the first to react. "You won the lottery?!" his voice is booming. "What? How did—." He realizes his voice has jumped an octave and he clears his throat. Lowering back to his normal pitch, he asks you again. "How much?"

You tilt your head down slowly. "It... was... a lot. Enough to live out the rest of my life without worry." The edge of your mouth jerks to the side. "Well, when I thought my lifespan was still human anyway."

Dean's eye twitches. "So you're loaded." He cants his head when he thinks of something. He flicks his hands towards you. "Why are you even here?"

You give him a blank look.

Sam interjects. "What he means is, why are you a hunter? When you can literally be anywhere else right now."

You nod your head at the elaboration and a wry grin touches your mouth. "Not like it hasn't crossed my mind, but I was already hunting full-time by then. Whenever I thought about a vacation, something else would pop up, and I just couldn't let it go."

Sam nods, appearing to sympathize, but Dean's perplexed gaze hasn't changed. "You don't look loaded." He scrutinizes your clothes. "You don't act like it either. Why even bother with motels anymore? And that comment about wasting money? What are you, Scrooge McDuck?"

His last remark makes you laugh. You lean forward on the table with both elbows and raise a finger. "One, what's the point in wearing fancy clothes if you're gonna get blood and dirt on them?" You raise a second finger. "Two, you think demons and monsters will give two shits whether or not I have money?" You raise a third finger. "And three, motels are a hunter's best friend because there's virtually no security." You lean back and sling your arm over the chair's backrest. "I am how I am because I know what's it's like to scrounge for money. Just because I'm a lot better off now doesn't mean I don't find unnecessary waste… wasteful."

Dean takes in a slow breath and leans back in his seat as well. He gives you an appraising once-over before the interrogative edge in his eyes finally dissolves. The man seems successfully convinced.

But you're not.

He raises an eyebrow at your expression. "Why are you looking at us like that?"

"You're not gonna call me on my hypocrisy?"

Dean pulls back. "What are you talking about?"

You run your tongue across the back of your teeth and drop your gaze to the table. "I just told you I know what it feels like to scrounge for money. I've also told you I grew up an orphan. And instead of making an honest living, donating my money to charity, or helping others who are in a similar situation, I choose to run across the country skirting the law, killing monsters, and playing hero with no responsibilities simply because I can." Self-reproach starts to well in your stomach. You chuckle darkly at your own words.

You've long come to terms with the flaws in your character, but it still makes you cringe when you dwell on it. You're selfish, amazingly so. No matter how many people you've saved, how many you've helped, you know you're not hunting for them. You're hunting for _you._

There's always been this… _something_ inside you, something that you can't define. This _unrest_ that plagues you since you could remember. Like an incessant itch you can't scratch because it's deep under your skin. Like you're not doing what you're supposed to, what you should.

Going to school and trying to mold yourself like the people around you didn't help. It always seemed like you were on the outside looking in, but it never felt like a bad thing. People liked you, and you knew you _belonged_ , just not in the way that felt _right_ to you. Discovering the supernatural and hunting helped, but even then there was still this _something_ that remained off. You want to know what it is you're feeling and yet, at the same time, you're also afraid to find out. It's the same _something_ that's been driving you, making you run away… or run to, you don't know.

But in recent years, you've gotten better at blocking it out, forgetting it all together on some days. However, in the end, when you do remember and you look yourself in the mirror, you don't like what you see.

"I think you're being a little hard on yourself." Sam stands up and walks next to his brother. He deliberates his words and rests a hand on the backrest of Dean's seat. "So what if you're not giving your money away or lending a hand to every unfortunate soul that crosses your path? It's not like you're frivolously squandering your assets and doing nothing with your life. Being a hunter, you're still saving people—"

"But I do this because I think it's _fun._ Not because I actually care." You grimace. Why are you still talking? Why are you even challenging this? What is to be gained?

You feel the outpour of words flooding from your mouth, but you can't stop it for some reason. "You guys got into this because the life found you. You save people from vampires and other things that go bump in the night because you don't want others to have to go through the loss that's been dealt to you. But not me. _I_ chose this life… even when I've lost nothing. There are people who have to deal with their mortality every day, and I'm just gambling it away on every hunt simply because I _want_ to." You look away from them to the window. You realize all the irritation from the past few days has come rushing back.

Why are you here? Why were you even dragged into this? Just what does life _want_ from you? What do Lilith and the angels _want_ from you? You've been living in stagnation, waiting and searching, and you're so tired of it. Just what is it that you're _supposed_ to do?

"Are you trying to get us to pity you or to hate you?"

Your eyes flit to Dean. He's wearing a sincerely confused face, but his words are harsh. "So you're not Mother Teresa. How many of us are? And for the record, just because we were originally thrown into this life, doesn't mean we're not still making a conscious decision every day to stay in it. I mean, what's so bad about living a life you enjoy? It's _your_ life. If you're feeling bad about some the decisions you made, then fix it. It's not like you don't have the means. Quit with the woe-is-me look."

You take a breath, feeling rather affronted. You don't know what expression you were making, but you wipe it off your face. "I wasn't trying to get you to do anything. I was just telling you the truth," you say defensively. "You wanted to know a little bit about me. This is who I am."

Dean clearly doesn't buy your front. "Christ, all we asked for was where you were getting your funds, not your sad philosophy on life."

You bite your tongue on a retort, kicking yourself for even bothering to open up. "Sorry for oversharing, guys. Promise that won't happen anymore." You reach out and grab one of the missing person's report, wanting nothing more than to end the discussion. From the corner of your eye, you notice Sam giving his brother an admonishing look, to which Dean responds with a shrug and two open palms.

"Alice." Sam's soft voice implores for your attention.

You expire a breath, still obviously peeved with Dean's dismissive comments, and look up.

He offers you a kind smile. "I'm happy that you were able to tell us all that. It shows how much you _trust_ us." He emphasizes the word with a pointed look to Dean. "We're working together now, and we're all in the same boat. It's good that we're getting to know each other better. And for the record, even though you're guilty for whatever reason, it doesn't matter what that reason is because at the end of the day, you're still saving people.

"When we first met, if you hadn't stepped in for that girl when you did, she'd be dead right now. And you say you don't really care about her, but you cared enough to stop us. I mean, you could've just stayed hidden or left the moment we arrived. If you did either of those things, you probably wouldn't be involved in all this right now. But you didn't. And because of your actions, that girl is alive." Sam stares into your eyes unwaveringly, and you're at a loss for words. "So think about that the next time you're feeling down."

"He's right…" Dean surrenders with a ceding look. "So, you won the lottery _once_. If you start giving all your money away to every Tom, Dick, and Harry just 'cause you feel guilty for winning, you wouldn't even have enough to live out the rest of your days if your lifespan was a mayfly's." His lips pull into a smirk, seeming proud to have made the joke. "And you're an immortal now, you've got your own ass to look after."

Sam glances at his brother. "A mayfly? Really?"

"You get it, right? It's 'cause they don't live very long."

Sam rolls his eyes. "Yeah, I know how long they live."

You clear your throat for their attention. When they turn to you again, you're biting your lips rather sheepishly. "Yeah… about that…"

The brothers stare at you with confused expressions.

…

"Holy shit," Dean says for the fifth time when you finish scraping the coating off the final Scratch & Win and pass it to him. Standing at his side and leaning over his shoulder is Sam. His eyes are bulging, still in awe at your unrelenting luck.

You had tried to explain your strange luck at the motel, but they didn't quite seem to get it. When you tried to demonstrate by asking them for a round of poker, Dean decided it would be a much more convincing spectacle if you just accomplished your claims first hand. So, after a few more back and forth, you finally relented to visiting one of the town's convenience stores for it was a stop you all had to make anyway. You grabbed the first five Scratch & Win tickets you saw from the plastic rack, paid for them, then proceeded to drag the Winchesters to a corner of the store so they could see your luck in action.

And now, here you stand with a dark look set in your features and the brothers… _ogling_ at the tickets.

"How is that even possible?" Sam breathes out. "I mean the chances of that alone are like… a billion to one."

Your shoulders sag, clutching the dime in your fist. "I know. It's creepy, right?"

Dean pulls the tickets away as if you've just insulted him. "Creepy?" He grips your shoulder and lowers to your eye level. "Do you have any idea how amazing this is? You're a walking talking _miracle!_ " He beams. "You're my new best friend!"

You shoot him a dead-eyed look, clearly unimpressed by his avarice. "So, you're convinced?"

He straightens himself and takes his hand back. "Oh yeah." Chuckling, he grins at his brother and waves the tickets, almost giddy with glee.

"Good." You wrench the cards from him before the man can protest. Walking over to the nearest recycling, you shred the cards and toss the pieces in.

Dean's face is a picture of heartbreak. "W-Why did you do that?! You just threw away half a million dollars!"

You pace back to the two brothers, motioning for them to lower their voices. There are already onlookers from the other aisles. "Dean, you don't seem to get it. All this…" you gesture vaguely to yourself. "My luck. It's _unnatural_. No one else is like this, and I have no idea where it all came from." Your frown deepens. … _Why_ I'm _like this._ "And I don't know if there will be repercussions later on that I've gotta deal with because of what I have now." Your eyes trail to the side, mildly aware of your own paranoia. "It could be a curse. _I_ could be cursed."

Dean shoots you a snort. "Okay, how about we cool it with the melodrama. If someone wanted to curse you, they've clearly chosen the wrong spell. You said you were like this ever since you could remember, so if it was a spell or a _curse,_ it would've started when you were just a kid, a baby even. Who's gonna be willing to go that far for a _kid._ " His lips curl into a smirk. "Unless you're telling me you've been starting beef with witches before you could crawl?"

You cross your arms and glare at him. "No, Dean. That's not what I'm telling you. But think on this." You lean in to challenge the smug look on his face. "In our line of work, when has something that's _too good to be true_ ever _not_ been _exactly_ just that?"

Dean's smirk falls and Sam begins to frown with you. The men share a look.

"She's got a point." Sam indicates with a half-shrug.

Dean turns away with a groan. "Goddammit. Why do we always, _always,_ have to look the gift horse in the mouth!"

Sam sends his brother a sympathetic look and a pat on the shoulder. Your face softens and you do feel _a little_ bad for the guy. After all the crap the angels just put him through, he really _does_ deserve a break.

"Dean." You call out, feeling like you're trying to pacify a kid. "If it makes you feel better, I'll buy you whatever you want. But for now, let's just do what we came here to do."

Dean peers over at your appeasing smile. His face appears sullen but there's a distinct glint in his eyes. "Anything I want?"

You scrutinize that glint but decide to ignore whatever ulterior intentions that may be swimming around in his mind. You turn your attention to the cashier. The security footage from the local police showed the latest missing person going into this corner store. He was declared missing three days later by his wife. Walking up to the counter, you get ready to pull out your fake badge.

Behind you, you hear Dean whisper to his brother. "You're the lawyer in the family. You heard what she said. Anything I want. That's legally binding."

Sam just sighs.

…

Sam pulls his fingers across the window pane, dragging up the yellowish-white residue. He rubs his fingers together. "Sulfur."

Dean turns his head towards his brother, lowering his voice. "So it's demons."

You eye the broken brush hedges from the same window. It's a possible evidence of a struggle. In the other room, you can hear the distraught wife over the phone with her family.

The three of you had decided to visit the house of the most recent disappearance under the guise of Federal officers and a new trainee. You had to take the latter role. What could you do? You were the youngest.

"Do you think this could be related to the seals?" you ask.

Sam catches your line of vision and scrutinizes the same bush. "If demons are involved, I'd say it's more than a probability."

Dean grins, ready to leave. "All righty then. What say you guys about calling our little angel friend down for a visit?"

…

After bidding the poor wife goodbye and a few more words of consolation, the three of you drive back to the motel. Once you arrive, you run back to your room as quickly as possible, eager to get out of the cheap suit. The collar of the blouse keeps scratching the back of your neck, leaving it red and irritable. Once you've returned to your usual shirt, jacket, and jeans, you head to the Winchester's room.

"Okay, I'm ready. Go ahead." You gesture towards Dean as you plop down at the edge of his bed.

The man looks a little flummoxed. "Why me?"

 _Because I've already called him a few days ago._ And even though Castiel may come immediately, you don't want to give them the inkling that you're anything more than acquaintances. You stare at Dean like the reason is obvious. "Aren't you two super close?"

Sam is giving Dean the same look when his brother starts to object. "You were the one that said it was Cass that gave you the idea to use Chuck against Lilith."

You nod, remembering. "You prayed to him that time too, and he came right away."

Dean makes a face. "So? According to Cass, you summoned him in your sleep-"

"Just do it!" You and Sam snap simultaneously.

Successfully pushed, Dean mimics your nagging voices before turning around and clasping his hands together. "Okay." He breathes out. "Cass? You there? Think there might be a seal being broken here. Could use your help right about now." He twists back around, expecting the angel to do his usual sneak up. You and Sam look about the room.

"What do you need."

You jump off the bed, almost tripping when you hear Castiel's voice beside you. "Jeez, Cass." You say through gritted teeth, your pulse still spiking.

Castiel looks at you with an odd expression. "I frightened you."

You take a deep breath and shoot him a peeved look for stating the obvious. "We need to attach a bell to you or something," you mutter under your breath.

Dean chuckles. "Now you know how I feel."

You twist around to pitch him a glare. "Anyhow," you begin, switching back to the angel. "We found some demon activity in this town. About ten people have been kidnapped. We've found sulfur at almost every location, but we have no idea why they're doing this other than something that's _maybe_ tied to a seal."

Sam steps forward to continue, transferring Castiel's attention on him. "We figure they might be keeping the bodies in some abandoned factory or underground, but this is an industrial town. It'll take days to check every possible location. And I don't think the victims have much time. Can you help us?"

Castiel straightens his gaze, seemingly understanding. "Yes." He flickers out of the room.

You glance mechanically around you, unsure of what just happened.

"Okay, that was useful," Dean mutters sarcastically.

A second later, Castiel reappears in the center of the room, startling Dean.

You bite your lip from grinning.

"I believe I've found their location." Castiel declares in his monotone voice.

Sam's eyes widen. "Wow. That was fast."

The angel raises his head. "There is an old factory not far from the edge of town. It's been warded from angels. It's their most likely station."

You jerk a glance at Castiel. So there's a way to ward against angels? Your gaze darkens. Would it be much use when Uriel's mark is still on you? The angels _watching over_ you would probably stop you the moment you start making the wards. …Still though, it can't hurt to know _how._

Dean smirks, ready for his daily dose of violence. "Awesome. Let's go."

Castiel briefly grazes your eyes with his before settling them back on the Winchesters. "I will wait for you there and survey the area for demon activity." Without giving anyone a chance to respond, he leaves.

"So," you say as you head for the door. "Any chance of me riding shotgun?"

"Nope." Sam pats your shoulder as he passes you.

…

The Impala pulls into a gritty stop over the gravel. You step out of the car and slam the door shut. Looking over to the abandoned metal building, the sunlight bounces orange tinted beams off the cracked windows. You realize the sky is darkening. You eye every inch of the structure but can't find anything that resembles a ward. Maybe the markings are on the inside? Or maybe is not markings at all…

The brothers move to the back of the car and pop open the trunk. Dean pulls out the same dagger you saw him use the night you first met him. He sees you eye the blade.

"Demon-killing knife, one of its kind." He holds it up for you to examine before sliding it into his belt. While Sam is tampering with a shotgun, Dean rummages their collection and brings out a pistol. He holds it toward you. "The bullets have been doused with holy water. Won't kill a demon, but it'll definitely slow them down."

You drop an impassive gaze at the lackluster weapon. "No thanks. I'm not good with guns."

Dean gives you the most incomprehensible look. Even Sam stops what he is doing to stare at you.

"What the hell kind of hunter doesn't use guns?"

When you don't answer, Dean just grabs your hand and forces the pistol into your palm. "It's not that difficult. Just point and shoot." He lowers his face to your eye level at your reluctant expression. "Make sure you don't shoot us."

"Right," you reply unwillingly and slip the gun into your jacket.

After Sam slams the trunk, Dean skims you with a wary regard. "Stay close, all right? Just let us take care of the big ones."

You pull on a beaming face and salute the man. "Whatever you say, your holiness."

Dean flings you a dirty look. "I will shoot you."

"Hey guys," Sam interrupts, pointing behind you.

You and Dean look back, finding Castiel pacing towards you.

"Were you able to see anything?"

Castiel shakes his head at Sam. "They were fastidious with the warding. Whatever it is they have inside, I can't get to it." His shoulders are bent more than usual.

"Are the wardings invisible? I don't see anything." You wear a nonchalant face and squint at the building.

When Castiel looks at you, you persist your guise of innocence. He nods. "Yes. The entire exterior is covered with them." Your insides shrivel in disappointment. _It was a long shot anyway._ Turning to the angel, you offer him a grin and a pat on the arm. Castiel is forced to sit out at the bench and you know he's dejected over it. "Don't worry about it. We'll take care of whatever they've got."

Dean snorts. "Big talk from someone who can't even use a gun."

You send the man a glare, seriously considering throwing the pistol he handed you at his head. Dean just grins. When you look back at Castiel, his mood seems lightened.

"I relayed what you told me to my superiors. There are no seals we are aware of that require ordinary humans in such numbers."

"So this might not be a seal at all." Sam muses.

Dean slams his fist into his palm, eager to leave. "Seal or no, we still gotta clean this up. Hopefully, some of these people are still alive."

"I will wait for you here. Be careful."

You nod back to Castiel and head towards the rusting establishment. A few minutes in, your feet leave the crunchy, gravel terrain and step on smooth concrete. You turn your head and sneak a glance at the angel from the corner of your eye. You only saw him briefly two days ago when you encountered Chuck. You wonder if you'll actually be able to exchange more than a few words this time. You follow the Winchesters around a corner of the building and Castiel cuts out from view. A meter in front of you is the double-doored entrance. It isn't even locked. The demons are either very careless or _very_ confident they wouldn't be found.

Once you're past the entrance, everyone's senses immediately heighten and both men ready their arms. Following what Dean told you, you stay close behind them. The ground is littered with dust, broken pieces of glass and other bits of metal that must have once served some function. You tiptoe lightly around the debris, doing the best you can to avoid any noise. To your chagrin, the men aren't as light on their feet. With each step they take, you grimace harder, feeling as though their footfalls are clamoring gongs, resounding your whereabouts for all of the demons to hear. You know you're exaggerating. But you've never teamed up with other hunters before, and your methods are usually much stealthier.

As you're led further into the interior, the light from the windows fade. After another set of doors, you're near shrouded in dark. Dean pulls out a flashlight and anchor his left wrist over his right, setting the light next to his gun. Sam turns around to send you a signal. Obliging their directions, you wait in the shadows of another pillar while they scout further ahead. You only move once they give you the okay. Treading further inward, you pause when you detect a smell. You take a few hesitant whiffs. The smell soon morphs into a rancorous, stinging odor.

You know what this is.

It's rot.

You bring a hand over your nose and try to breathe through your mouth. In the darkness, you can feel Sam and Dean's similar discomfort at the stench.

A sudden noise brings you all to a standstill. Dean immediately shuts off his light and both men aim their guns at the noise. Down the walkway, you think you see something reflective. A few clangs echo past you, and you hear the opening of a heavy metal door. The hinges squeak from the years of neglect.

In a split second decision, the men pull away their guns and you all scatter to hide yourselves.

The smell instantly turns pungent, wafting from the now open entrance. You catch Sam motioning for you to stay where you are, and you nod. You hear footsteps from the entrance and you see someone walking out. The lack of light is making it hard for you to discern their figure, but you're certain it's male. You see the Winchesters have disappeared from their posts, and you know they're stalking around in the dark, looking for the opening to strike.

The man by the metal entrance pushes the door back to shut it. Just as his fingers leaves the handle, Dean jumps into view. He clamps his palm over the man's mouth, swiftly driving the dagger through his back. The body falls, ricocheting yellow flashes against the metal door.

With the first demon down, Sam steps out of his hiding spot and waves a hand at you. With his assurance, you approach them.

"So far so good. You sure you're ready for what's inside?" Sam asks you while Dean wipes down his blade. "Could be pretty grisly."

You drop a glance at the body, feeling sorry for the possessed human. "Yeah. It'll be fun." You swallow, still trying to get used to the stink.

Sam passes you a lingering look. "Watch out for yourself."

At your readied attention, Dean pulls at the handle and moves inside. Instead of another narrow passage way as you had hoped, this door leads to a large open room, and every single demon standing in it snaps their head towards you.

"Uh, hey there," Dean greets with a mechanical smile. "Hope we weren't interrupting anything?"

None of you were expecting so many demons on the other side. There's another silent beat before the room erupts into chaos. Sam and Dean break into a run as s mass of two dozen demons bulldoze towards them. They shout at you to get back out.

Your mind whirls, triggering something in your brain. The scenery warps into a sluggish pace. The brothers' warning echo past your ears as your eyes take in the scene in front of you. Behind the running bodies, you see a slab of concrete sitting on a metal support, functioning as a table. What is on the slab makes your stomach turn.

In pieces of shining crimson and bruised flesh are undoubtedly something resembling that of a human. But with the state they're in, the disproportionate arrangement of the sections, and the visible differences in skin color, you realize they are separate pieces of multiple people. The hope of saving any survivors sink to the pit of your stomach, drudging up nausea and bile in its fall.

Sam and Dean's shouts still come your way, lurching you back into real time. You glance up, catching the malicious glint of two black eyes as they loom over you. You see a mouth stretch into a perverse grin, its teeth gleaming.

* * *

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	6. Noble Blood

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* * *

Your heart quickens. Blood and adrenaline surge through your veins.

Your attacker leers down at you, confidence and sadism bleeding from his features. In the background, two more demons approach. Both are wearing equal faces of malicious enjoyment.

You continue to stay immobile, watching them come closer, waiting for them to make the first move.

The demon before you raises his right hand.

Any coherent thoughts take a back seat as pure unchaste instinct fill your senses, abolishing every obstacle. You pull back your arm, the ample muscles flex in response to the buildup of power. Pushing off the ground, you bring your fist crashing into your attacker's center. The shock of your blow reverberates through his body, thrusting him back. His frame interrupts the charge of the demons behind him and the trio is sent tumbling astern.

Your assault brings the attention of more challengers. You pull in your limbs and re-center yourself, guarding every opening. With your eyes bright and pupils dilated, you scan the oncoming enemies. There's a flurry in the corner of your vision and your hand flies back. The maneuver catches the demon sneaking behind you by surprise and you snake your arm around his neck. Twisting him forward, you seize the dark creature by the head and slam him face-first into the concrete.

Two demons converge on you from the sides.

You tighten your stomach. Using the head of the previous demon as leverage, you press harder into his crushed skull and flip upwards. You swing through the open air. Prepping your body for the descent, you cram your feet into the chests of the two demons. They stumble back from the impact and fall. Before the demons can regain their bearings, you're already in front of them, positioned for the next barrage of attack.

Pivoting on one foot, you whip the other leg through the air. With a hard smack, your leg connects with the first head, sending it colliding into the nose of his neighbor. There is an audible crack as both crumble onto the ground, various parts of their heads bloodied and dented.

A rush of elation floods through you, pleading that you feed its appetite for more.

In the far corner of the room are the Winchesters, doing all they can to fend off the mob of enemies. More and more demons are pouring into the room. In their grapple, the hunters don't even notice you. Grunts and shots sound out, mixing in the air with sweat and exertion. You can taste the demon's bloodlust, the Winchesters' urgency, and your own sense of danger. It's music to your ears, darkly violent and sensual, and you give yourself over to the feeling. Your instincts hone in on the targets, a giant cluster of demons collaring the men from escape. You make your leap for the cluster, slicing a line through various stragglers to get to them. You feel the blows against you, but there is no pain, only gratification. Your body is a machine, smashing, punching, and crushing. You tear through the room against any and all adversaries.

Then, suddenly, everything is silent.

You try to straighten, swaying as you turn about. Somehow, without you realizing, the room has become littered with the broken bodies of demons. You stand where you are, panting. The adrenaline pulsing through your brain still urges you forward, but with no opponents left, your mind staggers to regain control.

When the pounding in your veins begins to ebb, you feel two pairs of eyes watching you. You slowly turn towards the left. You completely forgot the hunters.

Taking a deep breath, you bring your eyes to meet theirs. Had it not been for the dread now heavy in your heart, you would have laughed outright at their expression. The men are positively flabbergasted.

Mouth hanging ajar, Dean is still gripping onto his blade, frozen midway from a finished attack. His opponent, crumbled and limp at his feet, is already dead. Sam, like his brother, is also suspended mid-movement. His arms are raised, brandishing his shotgun at an enemy that is no longer there. At their unblinking stares, your own gaze falters and you observe your surroundings once more. Flashes of recent events replay in your consciousness and you now have enough sobriety to review your actions.

 _Well, it was gonna happen sooner or later._

You clear your throat and the brothers blink. "Um… I was only able to incapacitate them. You guys still need to finish the rest." True to your words, a few of the bodies are eliciting groans.

"Wha..." Dean's voice is high again. You interrupt his thought by pointing a finger at the moving bodies. The two finally seem to snap out of it. They look around themselves before moving. Just as Dean steps towards one of the demons still alive, he suddenly turns around and jabs a finger at you. "We're gonna talk about this after." His voice is low and commanding, but his eyes tell you just how disturbed he really is.

You surrender a nod and a wry grin.

While Dean finishes the demons with his blade, Sam keeps the remainder disabled. After giving them a heads-up, you decide to search the buildings for survivors. Following your nose, you're able to find them within minutes.

Tied to the back of a storage room are the three most recent victims. To your relief, they're alive but barely. The shock of having their body parts stolen has taken its toll. Two out of the three are unconscious and slowly bleeding to death. You tend to them immediately by muttering a few incantations. You're able to staunch the blood flow and stop any growing infections. You hurry back to the main room and alert Sam and Dean of what you found, urging them on the need for hospitalization.

One demon is left alive and Dean is in midst of tying him up and gagging him. He looks over to his brother, who's inspecting the flesh on the concrete table, and suggests Sam go with you to help with the prisoners.

It's dark when you carry the injured outside, and Dean is busying himself with the struggling demon. Once the hell-spawn is secured, he douses the severed body parts with some kind of propellant before lighting them on fire. The three of you exit the building together, you and Sam carrying the last victim and Dean the demon.

Dean punches the hell spawn in the face. "Goddamn demons. They just never quit." With Sam's help, the two are finally able to slam the trunk of the Impala down.

Standing with the unconscious victims, you and Castiel assess the damage.

"Can you fix them?" you ask.

He stares grimly at the three individuals. "To a point. They'll live, but I can't help them regrow the missing limbs."

You nod. "Whatever you can do then. And... maybe erasing their memories of this incident would be… nice."

Castiel's gaze flickers to you. Whatever thought he holds, it passes too quickly for you to catch. Nodding, he kneels and places his hand over each victim. With one soft glow after another, their dismal features wash away and restore to an unblemished calm. Castiel stands, signaling the end of his task. You and the brothers move them to the backseat of the car, strapping the bodies in securely.

You straighten your back and stretch. "What about the rest of the bodies inside?" Your group had managed to kill about twenty demons. Unfortunately, a few of the smarter ones knew when they'd lost. Three bodies were able to unhinge their jaw, letting the black soul inside escape.

The men's faces scrunch. No one is looking forward to digging enough graves for twenty bodies.

"Take the injured to the hospital. The angels will take care of the rest."

Dean looks at Castiel with snark. "You're not planning on destroying a whole town again, are you?" His tone is sarcastic, but the hardness in his gaze tells you he's only half-joking.

Castiel stares straights into the hunter's eyes, his head tilting to the left. "No."

You glance over to the younger Winchester, who only answers with a shrug. Although Dean may still have misgivings against Castiel over the incident with Alistair, you and Sam are quite relieved by the assistance.

Dean looks away with a dry chuckle, knowing his jab has completely flown over the angel's head. "Well, car's full. One of us will have to go with Cass." Dean looks at you specifically.

You return the man's gaze without resistance, actually glad for the suggestion. Stuffing yourself in for an hour's drive to the hospital is hardly what you feel like right now. "And the demon?" You jerk your head to the trunk.

Dean and Sam share a look. "We'll find another place to question him after we bring those three to the hospital." He switches back to you and Castiel. "You guys can wait for us back at the motel until we give you the address of where we'll be."

You nod, stepping back from the car. Suddenly remembering the pistol in your pocket, you call out for them to wait. You reach into your jacket and pull out the small gun. As Dean turns around, you slide it to him across the car's hood. He snatches the pistol when it reaches him. Dean eyes the gun then throws back a miffed expression.

"We're gonna have a nice long chat when all this is done."

You grin, feeling more confident. You're glad the Winchesters haven't changed their attitude towards you. "Whatever you like."

Sam and Dean get into the car and slam the doors in unison. They give you one more wave before driving off. Once the car turns down the road, you look to the angel beside you.

"Well, I'm ready whenever you are."

Castiel is still for a second longer. You give him an apologetic smile. You know he'll be shocked again for touching you. The angel places one hand on your shoulder and the familiar sense of vertigo washes over you. When your vision adjusts, you're back at the motel. Castiel withdraws his hand and you step away.

The bathroom door holds your attention and you suddenly realize how badly you want a shower. You grimace when you recall the dismal macabre of the factory's interior. You start towards your duffle bag, fumbling through your belongings before you notice the weight of Castiel's gaze. "If you don't mind, I'm gonna get cleaned up first. You can watch some TV if you'd like. Make yourself comfortable."

Castiel regards the various furniture in your room, not looking particularly taken with your suggestion. "I'd like to ask you what you witnessed in the building."

You almost pause, your eyes flashing. This is the opportunity you've been waiting for. If the angel wants something from you, you're gonna drag out his attendance as long as possible. You hide your grin, nodding absentmindedly as you bundle up your clothing and necessities. "Yeah, sure. _After_ my shower."

Without another word, you head to the bathroom and shut the door behind you. You expel a breath, finally having some time to yourself. You shed your clothes and climb into the tub. Turning the knob to full blast, you let the water wash away the dirt and grime. You run your hands across your face, pulling back your hair. As the water trails down your body, you can almost feel your earlier savagery trail away with it. You moan under its comfort.

So much happened today, the memories of the event bombard your mind. You only just narrowly escaped Lilith the other day, and already, you had to deal with her lackeys. A wave of mental exhaustion blankets you, only to be pushed away when you realize the day isn't over.

Your mind wanders back to your conversation with the Winchesters. You remember your uncharacteristic umbrage, evoked by Dean's comments. Your brain dithers as it reviews the entire transaction. Taking the stance of a third-party witness, you realize you probably would've _agreed_ with him.

What confounds you is your own behavior.

 _Why_ had you revealed as much as you did? _How_ were you even able to show such vulnerability? You've always, _always_ maintained a cordial distance with others, and you know you already have enough of their trust to work with them, to have them _help_ you.

You rewind through the past few weeks, through all the time you spent with the Winchesters.

You let out a chuckle.

Wouldn't you know it. You actually enjoy their company. Not only do you feel comfortable around them, you _like_ them… and you want them to like you back. It's why you were so scared to look at them after your little performance against the demons. You thought they'd be afraid of you.

…Well, judging by their expressions, they're probably _a_ _little_ rattled by you.

You close your eyes and let the water beat against your face.

You file the thought away for later. Right now, you need to focus on the celestial waiting on the other side of the door… _if_ he hasn't left yet.

By the time you step out of the shower, you're nearly one hundred percent refreshed. You get dressed quickly. Unable to find the patience to blow-dry your hair, you give it a rough rub with your towel and pull it into a small ponytail. Opening the door, you find Castiel in the exact same spot you left him. Your lips twitch with amusement.

"You could've sat down, you know." You move to put your laundry away, feeling his eyes follow you.

"I am comfortable waiting for you as I am."

You zip up your duffle then straighten your back, your hands at your hips. You wonder how you should go about this.

From across the room, Castiel seems to examine you for another second. "Are you free to discuss what transpired at the factory now?"

 _Like a dog with a bone._

You stare thoughtfully at the angel. Once you decide on the next course of action, you beam. "Not just yet. I'm feeling pretty hungry. How 'bout we discuss this over dinner?" Before Castiel can protest, you're already next to him, latching onto his arm and dragging him out the door.

…

Your eyes scan the list of entrées. Your stomach roils from reading one description after another. After the generous display of human anatomy bestowed upon you at the factory, anything at all _meaty_ makes you blanch.

Closing the menu, you force a smile when you return it to the waitress. "The vege-burger, please, with your house fries."

The woman nods then looks expectantly to the man sitting across from you. You hold back a smile at Castiel's blank expression.

The entire time you towed Castiel around, you were recounting the mental checklist of questions you prepared days ago. It wasn't until you were half-way through the town's center block that you realized it was already quite late into the evening, and most of the restaurants were closed. That left the 24-hour diner the only option available, and you weren't the only person who realized. When you walked in, the place is buzzing with customers. The diner has become a last-minute beacon to any travelers from miles around.

"And what will you be having, sir?" the waitress finally asks when Castiel doesn't reply.

The angel stares at you, expecting you to provide assistance. When you don't, feigning ignorance, he turns his stare to the waitress. There's a slight narrowing in his gaze and a tilt of his head. Immediately, awareness lights his face. He promptly hands the menu back. "Nothing for me, thank you."

You scrutinize the transition in his features. You've seen him do that before, staring at someone as if he was peering through to something inside. Was he looking into her head? …Looking into her _mind_? Your heart stutters. Can all angels do that?

…No…That's not it.

If Castiel is able to read your thoughts, he wouldn't be sitting across from you now.

You remember the night he tried to access your mind. He said he was blocked. You recall your conversation with Zachariah. From the way he acted, you don't think _he_ was able to read you either…

You see the woman raise an eyebrow at Castiel but doesn't question him otherwise. "Your order will be ready soon." Her depart stirs you out of your mulling.

When Castiel turns back to you, you make sure your face isn't showing anything it shouldn't.

The questions just keep piling on. How do you go about asking him without looking like you have a hidden agenda?

You push out a chuckle when the server is out of earshot. "I'm guessing angels don't eat?"

His brows dip, puzzled by your laugh. "With vessels, we are capable of the task, but it isn't necessary." His eyes float over the dozens of people in the restaurant, appearing discontent with the location. "Do you think it is wise to dine in such a public place?"

Your lips stretch into a genuine grin when you see him inspect the screaming child at the corner table. The family tries their best to console the offspring. Customers around their table pass the trio vexed looks.

"If it's demons you're worried about, I brought a hex bag." You suppress a laugh at how out of place he seems. "But if push comes to shove, I'm sure you'd be able to protect me."

Castiel frowns, unable to agree with your carefree mood.

"Besides…" you pause, eyes flashing. "Didn't you say heaven is watching over me? I feel pretty safe now that I know I'm being scrutinized at every moment." Your voice drips with sarcasm, but it goes right over the angel's head.

"Then you misunderstand. I did say heaven is guarding you, but we are in a _war_. That mark on your shoulder is what gives us knowledge of your location, and we would come immediately if we detect demons in your proximity. But expecting us to be constantly _scrutinizing_ your movements is impossible." He glares admonishingly at you. "Like I told Dean, there's a bigger picture here. We can't all just follow you around."

 _Huzzah!_ You couldn't be more delighted with his statement. You bend your lips in a downturn, lowering your visage and appearing _thoroughly_ reprimanded. "Sorry. I didn't realize."

He huffs, still simmering on righteous fire. His eyes flicker to the people around him. "If these humans overhear our conversation, don't you think we'll induce unnecessary panic?"

You immediately abandon your pout. But in wake of his tirade, you retain a smidgen of timidity. "Cass, no one is paying attention to us. And even if they did, no one would believe any of what we're saying."

His focus flies to the female server behind the counter. You noticed the pretty red-head staring at him when he walked through the door. She blushes when he meets her eyes and quickly turns away to converse with the waitress who served your table. Her gaze skips coyly to him after every few words.

"You're wrong. That particular female has been watching us since we entered this establishment." His shoulders square, battle-ready.

You bite down, a muscle twitching in your jaw. You don your most serious visage when you address him again. "Do you think we should question her? Maybe she knows something."

He nods his head grimly. "Perhaps, it is a possibility."

Your face falls apart and you snort from laughter. You only guffaw harder when Castiel stares at you with utter confusion. You know you should be spending time questioning him, but you just can't help yourself. If you knew taking Castiel out in public was going to be this entertaining, you would've done it a lot sooner.

"Why are you laughing?"

You speak through gritted teeth. "It's you—" You bite your lips just in time to stop another chortle.

He glares, a look that demands you elaborate.

You oblige him after taking a few deep breaths. "That girl isn't sneaking looks at us because she's suspicious. She's sneaking looks at _you_ because she's interested in you." When Castiel doesn't seem to understand, you follow up. "She's interested in you _romantically_ , Cass. Or sexually, or both."

Castiel leans back, eyes wide. "Oh."

Your shoulders tremble with levity.

Castiel looks down at himself. "It is the appearance of my vessel that she admires. Not I."

You finally regain composure. "Your vessel?"

He nods. "I am currently possessing the body of a man named Jimmy Novak. He resigned his body to me when I descended from Heaven to fulfill my mission."

You raise an eyebrow. "Possess? Like the demons."

Castiel doesn't seem to like the comparison. "Jimmy Novak _gave_ _me_ his permission. Angels cannot inhabit a human body otherwise. He is my destined vessel."

 _How interesting. He's like a mine of information._

You lean forward, examining him as if for the first time. "Is he… still in there? With you?"

Castiel nods. "With me in control, his soul mostly sleeps."

You tilt your head to the side. "So this isn't really you I'm looking at. What do you really look like then?"

Your conversation is momentarily interrupted when your waitress approaches with your meal. You thank her as she places the plate in front of you. Once she leaves to help another table, Castiel continues.

"Humans are unable to perceive our true forms." He pauses, his eyes darkening at an unwanted memory. "At least, not without incurring heavy costs."

"I see…" You pick at your fries, pondering. "So once all this is over, Jimmy will get his body back and you'll return to Heaven?"

"Yes."

"That's too bad. I think I've grown rather fond of you."

Your lips press together, startled by your own words. You realize you're a little saddened by his admittance, but you're more bothered by why you feel such a sentiment in the first place. Are you really this taken with these men or are you just desperate for company? You frown at yourself. Either way, you're not happy with this involuntary change.

When you notice Castiel looking uncomfortable again, it breaks your thoughts and you fall back into laughter. The angel starts to look impatient. You may have teased him too much.

"What did you see in the factory?" He begins again.

You sigh, realizing your prodding has come to an end. How do you stall? You still need more answers. You slide him a veiled gaze, deepening your voice. "Can't you just read my mind?"

Castiel dithers, reacting to the shift in your pitch. He looks confused.

"That's what you did to our waitress." Your eyes dart towards said waitress in indication. "The way you stared at her. You read her mind, didn't you? Why don't you read mine?" You speak the words like a challenge. And if you know men…

Castiel's gaze darkens. Fortunately, he doesn't appear suspicious, merely vexed. "Like I told you before, there is a barrier around your mind. I wasn't able to access it then and I'm still unable to."

So, you were right. But is this an exclusive occurrence? You have to make sure. Propping your chin on the heel of your palm, you turn your eyes away to the rest of the diner. Looking as distracted as possible, you take another fry and chew. "I wonder if it's just you. Maybe, if there was another angel that night, they'd be able to see what I was dreaming…"

"I assure you, it's not."

You snap your eyes back to the angel. He looks _quite_ incensed. You can almost see the indignation rolling off him. But the emotion soon dissolves into something more pensive.

"However that barrier is created, it's strong. Witches and warlocks have known to defend their minds in a similar way, but yours is different… Far more ancient." His frown turns back into a glare and he aims it at you. "As you are now, I doubt even the archangels will be able to read you."

Your insides swell in triumph. Whatever obscurity hidden in your past, at least a fraction of it seems centered on your protection. "What about the angel wardings? Is this something similar to that? If they can physically repel angels from a building, can they do it to someone's mind?" You crinkle your brows, staring at the angel in abject horror. "What if the barrier in my head is demon made?"

You doubt it. But the more distressed you appear, the more this angel will likely reveal.

True to expectations, Castiel almost leaps to rebuff you. "Calm down, Alice. The wardings used by the demons can only repel us physically. Not only that, they also have to be drawn onto a surface with blood. The moment the marks are washed away or altered, the entire barrier would fall apart." His gaze softens and you marvel at the expression he's making. It almost seems as though he's looking _concerned_ for you. "If it's any solace, I was able to touch your barrier and I can assure you it isn't demon made. If anything, its singularity is reminiscent of the markings in your spell book. _Ancient._ But not demonic."

You lean back from the table, reveling from his disclosure. You've learned much more than you originally thought. You need to go back and re-analyze your book as soon as you're alone.

You were actually quite surprised when Castiel gave it back to you. Luckily, Uriel wasn't present when you spoke of your book. He probably would have destroyed it then and there. Your eyes flicker to the angel's.

Didn't he mention your book to Zachariah? Why would the angels let you keep a book filled with spells that they can't read? Especially when they were holding you against your will. This can only mean Castiel _did not_ , in fact, disclose it to his superior.

Why?

You continue to stare into the angel's eyes, trying to find an answer.

Castiel gives you a questioning look. "What?"

You blink, only just realizing you had spoken out loud. You swallow, pulling back your blasé humor. "I was just wondering. Why did you give my book back to me?"

"Because it belonged to you."

Your brows crinkle. "It's filled with spells that you can't read. Weren't you concerned that I might've used it against you? Used it to escape?"

"No." Castiel continues to stare headlong at you, not a hint of doubt marks his features. He's telling the truth.

You're thoroughly flummoxed. " _Why?_ "

"Because you said you would stay."

You lose your words.

You sit there, your eyes wide and fixated on the being across from you. Castiel gave you back your book because you had _told_ him you would stay… and he believed you. Just like he believes you now. His gaze pushes back against yours, open and clear, not a single trace of hidden motives or agendas. You don't know how to respond. You've never encountered someone who looked at you like this… with such blind trust.

Your heart wrenches. There's a twisting bitterness rising inside you when you see just how _pure_ he is… and how _jaded_ you've become. You suddenly feel like laughing… and crying. You feel like bowing your head down and apologizing over and over again for all the selfish, manipulative thoughts and actions.

But cooler heads prevail. You've been like this for 25 years and it's going to take a lot more than that to change you. You suck in a breath and put yourself back together. Plastering on a smile, you move back to the earlier dialogue. "There was about a dozen of them."

Castiel looks increasingly confused. You just pulled him through a rollercoaster of your own private thoughts without the curtesy of granting context or reason. It's only normal that he's having trouble keeping up.

"Back in the factory. Only a dozen demons, easy enough to take out."

Understanding dawns on his face and he leans back. You have his undivided attention.

Your smile softens. It's time you finally give him what he wanted. "As far as blood and gore go, it was pretty much your average demon function. But…" Your brows furrow as you recall. "They had the victims' body parts all laid out on a table. Each piece looked like it belonged to a different person. I've never seen demons try anything like that before… I think they were kidnapping the humans to build some kind of Frankenstein's monster." You rip a small piece of your sandwich and bring it to your mouth. "Does this sound familiar to you at all?"

Castiel scrutinizes the table. "It does not. But the demon you were able to capture should provide us with more answers." His eyes slide back to you. "We should reconvene with Dean and Sam as soon as possible."

Just as those last words are said, your phone rings. You wipe your hands on a napkin and grab the phone from your pocket. Flipping it open, you bring the receiver to your lips. "Alice here."

"We found a place for the interrogation." It's Sam's voice. "The address is 241 Anchor Drive—", His words are interrupted by Dean shouting in the background.

"Tell them to get their asses here now! I wanna get this done!"

Sam sighs. "Yeah, so if you could get here soon…."

You smirk. "We'll be right there, Sam. Tell Dean to keep his panties on." You end the call and signal that it's time to leave. After dropping two twenties on the table, you snatch another bite from the burger, sad to leave the meal half finished. You notice Castiel is already walking out the door and you hurry after him.

"Cass!" you call for him to wait. The angel sure has long strides. He turns into an alleyway and you scamper to catch up. When you turn the same corner, you come up to see him facing you. His expression, frowning with impatience provokes you to grin. You march forward.

The moment you're within arm's reach, he lifts his hand. You stop him, your smile grows at the annoyance on his face.

"I just wanted to tell you thanks."

Castiel blinks.

"Thanks for trusting me, for returning my book. And for all the help you've given me." You peer up at his muddled features. "I _owe you one._ "

The angel pulls his hand back a bit. He doesn't seem to know how to respond and you don't need him to.

"C'mon. What're we waiting around for. Let's go." You give him a Cheshire grin. It widens when you see your remark has him irked. Castiel pushes his hand forward, making sure there are no onlookers before he vanishes with you.

Upon landing, your arrival is greeted by a loud cursing. You blink away the momentary dizziness. Over Castiel's shoulder, you see Dean flapping his arm as if trying to shake something off. The angel steps away, allowing you a clear view of the space.

You're in what appears to be the living room of an abandoned home. The walls and floors are covered with crumbling drywall and multiple spider webs decorate the dilapidated edges. There's a horribly dusty couch to the side. The fabric is so worn you can't even discern what its original color is. Next to the couch are the overturned table and two chairs, both broken. You're able to perceive this lovely view because of the dirt-crusted lamp in the corner. Its weak light flickers under the shade but still manages to stretch its glow across the room's expanse.

You raise your brow, surprised the house is still receiving electricity.

Through the opening to the kitchen, you see Sam crouched on the floor with a spray can in hand. In front of him seems to be a giant devil's trap.

You eye the broom in the corner. The men virtually had to clean the entire floor area to set this up. If there is even one sliver of dust or garbage, it can ruin the trap altogether. Something you're sure the Winchesters _definitely_ won't let happen again.

"Hey, guys." You call out, striding toward them with Castiel.

Sam looks up when he finishes up the last of the markings. "Glad you guys came right away." He glances worriedly to his brother. Standing half a meter away, in the painted circle, is Dean, in midst of threatening their captive. The wall cuts off your view of the demon and you can only see the edge of his pant legs. The brothers seem to have him tied to the only working chair.

You raise a brow at Dean when Sam walks through the opening to meet you. "What's up with him?"

Sam rubs the back of his neck, his face caught between concern and amusement. "Dean, uh…got bit when he was trying to tie him up."

The older Winchester slams a punch across the demon's face, unhappy with whatever insult that came out of him.

"You guys should probably hurry with the questions if you don't want Dean to kill him."

Castiel paces over to the hunter, pulling his attention away from the jeering demon. "Dean."

"He bit me, dammit! They're like animals!"

You break into a grin. Wanting a closer view, you move towards the opening and lean against the frame. Sam takes the spot next to you.

The angel places a hand on Dean's shoulder, easing him back. "I understand your frustration, but finding answers come first."

At Castiel's request, Dean brings his anger to a boil, but not before throwing the demon another scathing glare.

A chill runs down your spine.

Your eyes flicker to the man tied to the chair, his appearance bloodied and in disarray. You find his hungry black eyes watching you, peering out from the sinister face of a hell spawn. The manic ferocity in his gaze unnerves you and you involuntarily edge back.

"All right, talk." Dean brandishes his canteen of holy water, ready to use at the slightest hint of transgression. "What the hell were you guys trying to do back there?"

The possessed body begins to quiver. You narrow your eyes. _Is he feeling afraid?_

The demon suddenly throws back his head. The room fills with the sound of rancorous laughter.

Castiel and Sam exchange looks of apprehension. Dean grits his teeth. Before anyone else can get a word in, he splatters the holy water across the demon's face. The dark creature cries out mid-laugh, his flesh singeing from the liquid. His previous look of elation immediately morphs to one of anguish.

"Talk!" Dean roars.

The demon pants. When the sizzle recedes, the maniacal grin comes back. "I'll tell you whatever you want."

His eyes slither back to you and your skin crawls. Your face darkens. You don't like what's happening.

"And you better not lie or I start pulling teeth," Dean growls. He seems just as affected by the abrupt change in the demon's tune. Something's wrong, and it's injecting the air with tension.

The demon rasps through curled lips, grinning ear-to-ear. "Why lie when the truth is so much sweeter? You wanna know what we were trying to do?" He shoots Castiel a look of scorn. "You angels are pests!" He takes on a mocking tone. "Always trying to stop us from breaking your _precious seals_." His head whips back to Dean. "So we needed some insurance. We were going to create our own Knight of Hell… or, at least, something of the like."

Sam's brows dip in thought. "But then we stopped you."

The hell spawn swerves to the younger Winchester, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "Yes, _good for you_."

Sam glares back but is ignored.

"You stopped us from building some minor defense…" The leering black eyes lock onto you, tracing over your figure. It takes all your mettle to withstand the ravenous look.

"But what you gave us in return far exceeds the value of any Knight of Hell."

Dean grits his teeth. "What the hell are you talking about? We didn't give you jack!"

"Oh! But you did!" He jerks towards you. "When you brought the immortal right to our doorstep!" He lets out a barking laugh. "How've we looked and looked and you walked right to us!"

Your blood runs cold.

Dean loses his patience and plunges his fist into the demon's gut. "Quit laughing and start making sense!"

The demon coughs out at the sudden attack, spewing out blood and saliva. Yet, he still manages to keep his smirk. He takes in a few more breaths before he speaks.

" _The noble blood of one immune to time and the blood of first darkness. United, they shall be the doors to the Fallen's cage_." He slides a bloody tongue across his teeth. "We found you! We know who you are! Lilith knows who you are!" The demon screams at you. "It's only a matter of time now!"

Your chest heaves and you grit your teeth. You think you feel sick.

All this time… It was your blood they wanted.

"And when he rises, we'll owe it all to you three." His gleaming eyes dance from you to the brothers and back. "The famous Winchesters who started all this… and the immortal who will open his doors."

You stand shell-shocked. His eyes seem to cleave straight through you.

He lets out a low, slithering laugh. "We're gonna bleed you dry."

You can see it too; a painting of your death. Your life blood pooling away, giving rise to the Father of Demons.

An acute shriek jostles you from your stupor. Dean clearly had enough of his prattle, driving the demon blade deep into his chest. However, the hell spawn still has the final word.

"You'll lose in the end. You'll die. All… of… you." His last breath expires, the dying flickers of his demonic candle declaring his passing.

Sam turns to you and he holds out a hand. "Alice. Are you okay?" It hovers inches by your arm.

You wrench your eyes from the demon's empty gaze and turn towards his voice. You imagine you must be looking quite pale. You dig your fingers into your palms, clenching your hands. You welcome the pain when it shoots through you. It cuts apart the pandemonium in your skull and your mind staggers to regain rationale. You strain to keep your wits about you, to appear unfazed. You hold up a hand as an indication of your stability, but the mechanical movement of your body betrays you.

How did things go so wrong? Lilith knows who you are; she'll know what to look for… You think back to the demons you fought. The fanatical expressions on their faces. _They knew!_ But _how_ did they know? How was this demon able to recognize what you are when all the other demons you've faced up to now haven't?

 _Stupid!_ You were so stupid! Why did you let them escape? _How_ could you? And now, you've no one to answer your questions.

A hand grips your shoulder, shaking you from your thoughts. A familiar tie and trench coat enters your vision. You snap up to meet a set of deep imploring eyes.

"They want my blood…" you breathe out.

Castiel stiffens. The intensity of his gaze darkens the cobalt hue, bearing down on you with its weight. "That's not going to happen." His grip tightens. "We'll stop Lilith before she can lay a hand on you."

The vehement pressure of his tone almost convinces you.

Your brain reels and you suddenly realize how close the angel is, how close you've allowed him. Warnings blare out in your mind. _Your face! Your face! You're letting them see everything!_

You squeeze your eyes shut and slap both hands to your cheeks. Your action startles everyone.

You draw in deep breaths, recognizing just how much of yourself you were revealing. Whenever you're with these boys, you find your guard dropping and you're not even conscious of it. You're becoming much too comfortable with them, _familiar_ with them, to the point where you feel you can… _rely_ on them.

And that's terrifying in its own right.

"I'm fine, guys," you say, finally managing to pull back your previous look of self-assurance. You drop your hands from your cheeks but can still feel a throbbing sting.

Castiel examines you. He seems addled by your strange actions, but when he notes the calm in your face, he relaxes his hand from your shoulder.

"Hey, don't you worry." Dean grins delicately. "If Lilith shows, we'll take her out. Heck, with the way you fight, you can probably gank her yourself."

His remark makes you snort. But it still elicits a genuine smile.

"Yeah, Alice." Sam's gaze is soft and he offers his support as well. "You're not in this alone. We'll fight them together,"

You start to feel a little embarrassed.

Luckily, Castiel steers the focus away from you when he shifts. He passes his eyes from one person to the next. "I need to return to Heaven and report this immediately. I will come back as soon as I can." He directs the latter to you.

Before you can tell him he doesn't need to, the man is gone. You swallow a sigh.

After a moment of silence, Sam clears his throat. "I don't know about you guys, but I'm ready to leave."

Dean rubs the back of his neck, fatigued from the day's events. "About damn time." He tosses the cadaver on the chair a reluctant look and motions for you and Sam. "Help me get this body out back."

…

When you returned to the hotel, it was near midnight. While Sam and Dean offered for you to stay in their suite for the night, you assured them that you would be perfectly safe in your own room. Not only did you prepare plenty of hex bags, you also warded your room with the incantations and symbols drawn out in your spell book. What you didn't tell them was that you wanted some time alone, some time to _think._ The Winchesters eventually relented, but you knew they'd both be sleeping with one eye open tonight.

So now, here you are, sitting immobile on the edge of your bed with your back facing the window. You kept the lights off, but the glow from the outside street lamps still manages to cast a pale luminescence into your room through the blinds. Your fingers fist the sheets at your side. A few inches to your left lies your spell book. You had wanted to scan the contents in hopes you would discover more about the barrier within your mind, but now, you can hardly be bothered with it.

You close your eyes and draw in a deep breath. Over and over again, it echoes in your head; it's all you can think about.

…The demon's words on repeat.

 _~ …"The noble blood of one immune to time and the blood of first darkness. United, they shall be the doors to the Fallen's cage."…_

 _"_ _We found you! We know who you are!_

 _"_ _We're gonna bleed you dry…."~_

You bring your arms around yourself, no longer able to fake your composure.

You are _terrified_.

Of all your life, you've never known such _fear_. But it isn't just your own death that claws at you, it's the responsibility of bringing an end to all life on Earth should Lilith acquire you. And you crumble staring in the face of it.

You wince at the thought. Every fiber of your being rejects the notion. But you can't dismiss the possibility. If Lilith gets to you, the losses will be unfathomable.

A response echoes from the deeper reaches of your mind, taunting you with its prospect. Lilith wouldn't be able to get to you if you're not there… If you didn't exist…. If you weren't _alive_ ….

You push back the insidious suggestion, but the lure of its logic is indisputable. If you died, Lilith would lose her immortal, the gates would remain sealed….

But no, you counter, even if you died, Lilith would simply find a replacement. There must be more immortals with noble blood out there.

Noble blood… You wipe a hand down your face and laugh, your expression torn between bewilderment and pain.

It's a mistake. It _has_ to be… what's so _noble_ about you?

You lie. You steal. You always put yourself above others. You're so twisted that you can't even say hello to a stranger without thinking what merits the conversation might bring you. To be associated with you would only make a mockery of the title.

 _Noble blood._ What a joke.

You thread a hand through your hair. You still don't understand how the demons knew. It can't be the mark on your wrist because you've always had it. The demons that took you to the warehouse thought you were _human_ , as did all the demons you fought before. What changed? You look down at your hands. Because something must have if they're able to recognize you on sight.

There's a stirring in the air. You recognize the familiar presence, but you don't greet him. You're still too lost in your thoughts.

"The warding you've placed over your room is quite thorough." Castiel acknowledges as he steps out from the corner. You know he's made an effort to not startle you.

You turn your head towards him. "How did the demons know?"

Castiel halts. "What do you mean?"

"How did they know I was the immortal they were looking for?"

Castiel dithers. You can see he doesn't have an answer, but you're not satisfied. You stand up and face him.

"They recognized me on sight even though none of the demons I dealt with before thought I was anything but human. What changed? What about me is different? Enough to tip them off?"

Castiel stares at you for a moment and frowns. "I'm sorry, but I don't have an explanation for you. I don't know how they found out about you."

Your shoulders sag and you slump back on your bed. What's the point in digging for answers now? They know it's you and there's nothing you can do to change it.

"If it truly concerns you, I can try and find out."

You glance up at the angel. The blue of his eyes swims, signaling the shift in his emotion. Your frown recedes. He's trying to comfort you.

"But my main focus right now is to protect you." Castiel's words catch you off guard and you stare at him.

Is your brain _malfunctioning?_ You're completely aware of the context, but your mind can't help being peculiar to those words.

For a man to say _that_ to a woman with such a straight face…

You're befuddled by your own thoughts. How are you even capable of dwelling on something so _asinine_ when you were riddled with anxiety just seconds ago?

…He's just so _sincere._

You clear your throat and look away, bemused by how easily Castiel lifted your mood. "So, what was the conclusion upstairs?"

He turns towards the window. His face is stoic, but there's something about his mannerism that gives off a feeling of dissatisfaction. "Everything remains as is. We've known Lilith needed you, now we're simply clearer as to why."

You give him a skeptical look. "Really? Even when I'm clearly a liability?" And they're even leaving you here to run around with the Winchesters.

You whistle at the angels' apparent reckless decision, but it's not like you're complaining. "Can heaven really afford to be so relaxed? I was sure Zachariah or whoever runs the show upstairs would want me turned to cinders…" Your sarcasm trails off. What is originally meant as a quip has opened your mind to something else entirely.

 _~… "You'll have your own part to play when the time comes…"~_

Your conversation with Zachariah flashes through your head, bringing with it a momentous realization. You stare into the wall, all emotions wiped. The insight bears down on you with a crushing weight. You feel anchored to the bed.

Castiel tenses. "Alice, I understand feeling the need to martyr yourself…" His words fall on deaf ears.

How naïve you were. You should have realized your fate the moment that demon divulged why you were sought for. The only reason **you're** still alive right now are the two boys on the other side of your walls. They weren't going to kill you _here_. Oh, no. Lest they want Sam and Dean to feel _disgruntled_ again. They'll make their move when the boys are distracted; when they're separated from you. It's the only logical solution…

All this time you thought you were pitting yourself against them like an opposing player, when in reality, you were just a chess piece… you were being _played…_

"Alice?" The sudden closeness of Castiel's voice brings you out of your dark, dark thoughts. Noticing your lack of response, he must have approached without your notice.

You stare at the angel, seeing the honesty reflected in his cerulean gaze.

You're going to die…

All your previous vulnerability comes rushing back.

"No, I'm not thinking of martyring myself," you answer in a breathy rasp, but your words are empty.

You shake your head, unable to hold his gaze any longer. He really has no idea. You swallow, feeling a lump build in your throat. Will they make Castiel your executioner? You inwardly shrivel from the idea. You wedge your eyes shut. They can't be that cruel. It'll be quick, perhaps even painless. Even if you're immortal, there must be some efficient way for celestials to end you.

You suddenly laugh out, amused by your own thoughts. You really must not be human; to accept your impending doom so easily.

You think about the brothers sleeping in the next room, how fond you've grown of them. They're your _friends_ , you truly believe that now. You only wish you met them sooner. You wish you had more to give them.

And then there's the angel standing beside you.

You offer Castiel a docile smile and it seems to ease some of his tension. He's been watching you with concern for some time now. You grab your spell book and move it out of the way. "Why don't you sit down already. You're making me seem like a bad host."

Castiel slowly lowers himself onto the bed. He lays his hands on his lap, looking like he isn't too sure where to put them. It makes you smile, and you contemplate him again.

The first time you saw him, he seemed so foreign to you. The way his eyes raked the surroundings, narrowed in their scrutiny. He looked callous… and eerie. And then, you got to spend time with him. Now you know just how off your first impression was.

From your first one-on-one chat with him, you found out he's oddly sensitive, naïve, and wore his honesty openly. From the incident with Dean and Uriel, you saw his loyalty, how empathetic he was to the ones he's aligned himself with. From today, you discovered he took almost every matter with the utmost seriousness, and you realized you've yet to see him smile. It made him awkward in everyday human interactions and yet he'd shown a clear curiosity for those very same humans.

He trusted you so easily… and you were willing to _use_ him. The least you can do is apologize.

"Cass…"

Castiel turns to you.

"If there are angels who disagree with the idea of me being protected… and think I should be destroyed…" You pause to measure his expression. "What would you do?"

You see the thoughts swirl behind his eyes, a look of confliction on his face. The center of his brows mars in deliberation and when he finally makes a decision, he lifts his head.

"I won't let them."

Your heart melts.

You look down at your lap, your lips rendering a painful smile. "But what if I told you that you shouldn't. That I wasn't worth it?"

Castiel's brows furrow. "I don't understand."

Your smile falters.

What is it about wanting to confess when you're faced with death? Is it really just so people could leave with a lighter conscience? To have the weight of your sins absolved before the passing? Sounds quite selfish in your opinion. If you feel guilty, just say sorry and you can run out the clock without dealing with any consequences? Now there's a moral conundrum if there ever was one.

You don't want to see the look in his eyes once he knows what kind of person you _really_ are. But he deserves the truth. No more of your schemes. No more manipulations. None of it mattered anymore.

"What if I told you that I'm a liar. A con-artist. That I manipulate the thoughts and feelings of everyone around me just for my own gain."

Castiel is silent. For the first time, you're unable to read his emotions.

You turn your face away. Maybe you're just too afraid to see into his gaze. "I'm not the person you think I am, Cass." Your shoulders hunch and you tuck your hands between your knees. "I'm sorry. I don't deserve your protection."

You hear him expel a sigh. It almost sounds… exasperated.

"You and Dean… for some reason have similar doubts about yourselves."

You shoot him a questioning look, but his vision is fixed straight ahead. _Dean?_ You suddenly remember the conversation you overheard between the two of them at the hospital.

 _~…"Is it true? ... Did I break the first seal? ... Did I start all this?"…~_

Dean must have been blaming himself all this time.

Your brows pucker. No, this isn't the same. You admit you don't know the specifics, only from what you read in the Supernatural books, but you _do_ know that whatever happened to Dean was forced upon him. He didn't want to lose his brother, the _only_ family he has left. …But _you?_ You don't have anyone else. No one to fight for, to sacrifice for, …to live for. You've done whatever _you_ wanted. Just you and _for you._ It was lonely sometimes, but hell, was it a great life. Guess you can only be this selfish for so long…

You shake your head. "Cass—"

"Alice," Castiel interrupts, shifting his gaze back on you. "In Heaven, there is a record of every single human born into existence. And, on that record is a recount of all the actions and decisions every person has made. It helps us decide which souls we admit and which ones we condemn." He pauses to examine your expression. "So, whatever it is that you feel guilty of, I've already seen it."

Your eyes widen. You know you should be angry... or at least annoyed, but you can't muster either emotion.

"I've seen the passing reel of your life. Of Dean's and of Sam's. And I disagree. You are _worth_ it." Castiel interlaces his fingers. And although he's bowed his back, relaxed and looking more human than ever, he's also more compelling… almost forceful. You find yourself unable to refute him.

"I've been given orders to protect you and I fully intend to see that through." His pauses, his eyes hardening. "But even if that wasn't the case, yours isn't a life that should be extinguished. I would fight to protect it regardless—"

Catching the angel by surprise, you throw your arms around him. He freezes in your abrupt embrace. You lean your head over his shoulder and let out a doleful smile.

Castiel still doesn't know. He doesn't know what his superior intends to do. He doesn't know of the thoughts you've inhabited. But you don't care. This _wonderful, amazing_ creature persists on seeing the best in you and you no longer have any desire to refute him. In this moment, you sincerely wish, if you somehow live through this, you won't waste _it_ this time. You'll value each and every breath, appreciate the people in your life, and maybe, just maybe, you'll be able to become the virtuous person Castiel believes you to be.

"Thanks so much, Cass." And just as sudden, you let him go.

The angel is completely frozen.

A soft smile appears on your lips. "You really cheered me up."

* * *

 **PLEASE READ AND REVIEW! Reviewer get to have dinner with Castiel!**


	7. As the Spool Unravels

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* * *

You lie where you are, staring lightheaded into the ceiling. Grandiose trimmings of the rococo era fill your vision. Your right hand presses against the hemorrhaging wound in your stomach.

You're alone and with no one to come to your aid. You think you might pass out soon. Your eyes travel along the walls of your prison, the place you've been trapped in for the past few days. You've lost track of how long.

All along the paintings and the pristine, stucco embellishments are joyful doll-like faces. They peer down at you with empty, mocking eyes, looming over your pitiful appearance while they retain their flawless grace.

You expel a breath, the gasp drifting out of you in a threaded groan.

A few days ago, you'd thought things couldn't possibly get any worse… How utterly delirious…

Your eyes start to roll back into your head, the memories leading to this reality flowing into your consciousness.

…

It had been two days since the encounter with the demons at the factory. You and the Winchesters spent the entire previous night on the road. Finding no lodging anywhere in sight, the three of you had to make do sleeping in the car. It was an experience you hope you never have to replicate ever again. Waking up to the most body-aching morning, the two hunters suddenly received a call from their father's cell phone. The person on the line called himself Adam Winchester, son of apparently the same man who fathered Sam and Dean. The boys were wary but adamant in a meeting, so they proposed that you stay in a hotel while they investigated this possible new sibling. You immediately agreed, not wanting to get involved in their personal baggage.

So, the brothers drove you into town, and after dropping you in the nearest hotel, they left to meet the mysterious caller. It wasn't until you were alone that you noticed your mistake. But, by then, it was too late. The angels had come for you.

Two men in dark suits grabbed you before you could utter a single protection spell. The next thing you knew, you were standing in the middle of what you originally thought to be an art gallery or museum. The notion was soon shattered when Zachariah made his entrance.

"You're probably wondering why you're here." His jeering tone was the same.

You looked around warily. The place had no windows or doors. You were hoping you would get a least a few more days. "I think I have a general idea."

Zachariah seemed genuinely intrigued. "Really? Why do you think you're here then? I am positively dying to know."

You eyed the marble table at the center of the room, walking around it in a vain attempt to keep him at a distance. "You couldn't do this with Dean or Sam watching. But with them sufficiently distracted, you can end me, blame it on the demons, thus providing further motivation."

Zachariah swayed his head left and right, his brow rising. "That was a much more intelligible answer than I was expecting. Good for you."

You glared at him.

"But," he started, "you're only half right."

You halted, your eyes trying to dissect his expression. "What am I wrong about?" Perhaps you wouldn't die here? An inkling of hope sparked within you.

"You're not here because we want to kill you. You're here to give us a donation." He glanced towards the table in front of you, leading your gaze to the same position. Now seated in the center of the previously empty surface was a large jar near a gallon in size.

You stared at the glass container then back at the angel, your face scrunching in confusion. "A donation?"

"Yes."

Zachariah evaporated then reappeared in front of you.

You abruptly felt an acute plunge in your abdomen. Looking down, you saw the blooming red on your shirt and a golden ornate blade perforating from your stomach. You stared wide-eyed at the angel. Clutching the wound, you fell back a step.

"A blood donation."

You breathed in shallow gasps, sinking back to the wall and sliding down the vertical support. You began to feel the drain. In front of you, on the table, you saw the jar slowly filling with red. You glared at the balding man. Of all the reviling thoughts whirling through your mind, all you could wheeze out is a question. "What are you doing?"

Zachariah kneeled, lowering himself to better examine you. "I'm simply following what fate dictates. And fate wants the apocalypse." He offered you a mocking pout. "This was all meant to happen since the beginning."

You gritted your teeth, not willing to give him the satisfaction of seeing your pain. "Why?"

He smirked at your struggle. "Why?" He reached out, brushing your hair from your cheek. Despite the scorching agony in your stomach, you still found enough distaste to turn away from his hand.

"For the greater good, of course."

"How is this the greater good?" you seethed. "The apocalypse will kill billions… innocent…"

Zachariah began to shush you, knowing the lack of blood was taking its toll. The jar beside him was nearly full. "Look, all this must seem very… grating to you now. But with the amount of filth that's been filling this planet by humanity's own hand as well as the involvement of demons, Earth is kind of due for a cleansing. And that's exactly what the apocalypse is. It's medicine. And once Lucifer is free, Heaven will take up arms and destroy evil once and for all." His eyes took on a faraway glow, envisioning the battle in his mind. "And then… paradise."

He cast his gleaming gaze back to you. "And lucky you, the show runners upstairs have already prepared a cozy little spot for you in our new nirvana."

You closed your eyes, choking back the revulsion scorching through your insides. You should've known. You should've _known!_ Your instincts were throwing you giant, red, caution signs and you _ignored_ them! He was an angel! An angel like Castiel. You wanted so badly to believe they weren't the enemy. _Stupid. So damningly stupid._

"It was you…" you squeezed out. "You told the demons about me…"

You hear a chuckle. "Guilty as charged."

You mustered the strongest glare you can manage, burning with wrathful defiance.

The message was delivered, but the man was hardly impressed. "Well," he uttered, standing back up. "It's as they say; the young are often ungrateful." He shed a sneer, "You'll see it our way soon enough. But, for now…" He turned towards the jar, now filled to the brim and picked it up by its cap. He waved a hand, gesturing to the substantial amount of your blood that was collected. "Enjoy your recuperation. It's going to take a while, even for your immortal body, to get all this back."

He vanished along with the jar.

You let out a cry after his departure, relieved of his presence. With heavy pants and groans, you stared at the menacing dagger buried to the hilt in your abdomen. Taking a few deep breaths, you prepped yourself for the removal. Before you falter, you snatched the hilt. With another gasp of air, you ripped it out, screaming as the blade carved its way to the opening.

The knife dropped with a clang the moment it was free of your flesh.

You seized the burning gap, hissing through your teeth.

Everything was a mess. It was chaos within your mind as you laid trapped within this room, completely weak and useless. You were bleeding out all that's left and you had no way of contacting someone for help. And yet, despite everything, all you could think of was the angel who said he would protect you.

Castiel, your mind moaned out. Where are you?

~Castiel's P.O.V.~

I watch curiously as Alice moves away from me and towards her cylindrical bag.

"If you don't mind, I'm gonna get cleaned up first. You can watch some TV if you'd like. Make yourself comfortable."

At her suggestion, I glance around her modest lodging. I am reminded once again of how burdening a human body can be. Humans want and need constant comfort no matter where they are. As an angel, these desires are foreign. I remain where I am.

"I'd like to ask you about what you witnessed in the building." I need to know what happened in case the demons are devising some fiendish countermeasure.

Alice nods, but her behavior seems distracted. She continues to gather her clothing. "Yeah, sure. After my shower." Without further indication, she walks into the smaller adjoining room and closes the door behind her. I'm confused as to why she would place the urgency of a shower above that of a debriefing. Every second matters in this fight against the apocalypse. The sooner she can provide me with answers, the sooner I may relay to my brethren.

I continue to stare at the door.

I've come to realize how complicated human beings can be in their thought process. Simply reading the minds of Sam and Dean has shown me that. How chaotic their minds are, constantly pulled and swayed by every whim, emotion, and desire. I don't know how they live with it.

I blink, correcting myself. Alice _isn't_ human… but she does live like one. It would help to understand her if I am able to read her mind, but the same block that repelled me from seeing her dreams still wards her from me now. It's… frustrating, a new emotion I've come to know.

I hear a clicking and the door opens, revealing Alice at the threshold in a different set of garbs. Steam rolls out from the tiny room she's in, carrying with it a perfumed scent. There's a small smile on her lips as she looks at me, inciting my curiosity again.

"You could've sat down, you know."

My eyes follow her as she moves back to her bag. "I am comfortable waiting for you as I am." It's now after her shower, she must be ready to talk. "Are you free to discuss what transpired at the factory now?"

The girl straightens her back and places two hands on her hips. She stares at me with a look of contemplation. I wait patiently for her to collect her thoughts. Perhaps the ordeal is difficult to recall.

The notion disintegrates when a rather large smile spreads across her face.

"Not just yet. I'm feeling pretty hungry. How 'bout we discuss this over dinner?"

Her reply momentarily stuns me. She isn't unsettled, _unfocused_ is the word I'd now use. Doesn't she see the importance of the matter? Apparently not. Alice seems completely oblivious to my distress as she approaches me. When she grabs onto my hand, I feel the familiar electric jolt. She continues to show no sign of detecting the sensation. With me in tow, I stare into the back of her head, wanting very much to read her thoughts.

Wanting… this is another emotion I've grown to feel.

We've been walking down the streets for a while. The hour is late and most of the humans have retired to their homes. Alice has been silent the entire way. Her arm locks firmly around mine and there's a determined glint her eyes. I study her through a narrowed gaze, unable to see her mind's inner workings. I wonder what she's thinking.

After a few more minutes, I detect the smell of human food. Alice stops in her tracks and glances at me. She gestures to one of the more vibrant buildings, where the scent is strongest. Without waiting for my consent, she pulls me to her desired destination.

Through the entrance, I am greeted with a range of noise and activity. Even in this enclosed establishment, humans stay true to their chaotic nature.

Alice directs me away from the glass doors and towards an empty table. She presses against my shoulder. Her strength is meager, but I allow her to ease me into the cushioned seat behind me. Satisfied with where I am, she moves to sit across from me. I frown as I continue to survey this heavily occupied setting. If she requires sustenance, I would be comfortable waiting for her in the lodging.

Alice waves demurely at a red headed woman standing a few feet away. The female smiles in response and approaches, quickly grabbing two large parchments of some sort from a nearby counter. She places one document in front of each of us and ask us if we wanted drinks.

"Just water. For the both of us, thanks," Alice replies.

The woman politely nods, turning to walk away.

I settle on watching the girl across from me; my surroundings are too unnerving to follow. Alice flips the document back and around, scrutinizing the list of words and pictures. I briefly glance at the sheet lying on the table. It's a description of various foods. I look back up, uninterested.

I retreat to my original thought: why this girl has chosen to bring me here with her. Zachariah's words fly into memory. That must be it. With Lilith on the prowl for an immortal, she must feel endangered. Perhaps my earlier words of consolation weren't enough. She must want me here to provide protection. I examine our settings once more but with doubled caution.

"The vege-burger, please. With your house fries." Alice requests when the female returns with two glasses of water. The woman then directs her expectant gaze to me. I glance at Alice for direction, but she simply mirrors my stare, albeit with a strange look on her face.

"And what will you be having, sir?"

I decide to look into the woman's mind and I finally comprehend what she's asking.

I hand the paper back to her. "Nothing for me, thank you."

There is a small emission of curiosity in the female's thoughts, but she does not act on them. Once she is gone, Alice is laughing. "I'm guessing angels don't eat?"

I stare into her eyes, trying to discern her impossible thoughts. Why does she appear so amused? "With vessels, we are capable of the task, but it isn't necessary." Perhaps answering her question might allow me to understand her.

I halt, immediately discarding the thought. I remind myself of my mission. I am here to protect the immortal and to get further information regarding demons or seals, not to bother myself with the conundrum that is Alice's mind. The setting provokes my vigil once more. "Do you think it is wise to dine in such a public place?" There are children here, innocents. Should demons attack, I'm not sure I will be able to save all the humans here.

"If it's demons you're worried about, I brought a hex bag."

That doesn't cure my concern.

"But if push comes to shove, I'm sure you'd be able to protect me."

I frown. There is something about her tone that doesn't cohere to her words. Was it… sarcasm? Some of my brothers and sisters sometimes carry the manner. … No, that isn't it, her words aren't filled with any disdain.

"Besides… Didn't you say heaven is watching over me? I feel pretty safe now that I know I'm being scrutinized at every moment."

My lips press into a stern line. I had thought better of her. It seems, despite her immortal identity, she's also fallen prey to the same churlish arrogance of all humans.

"Then you misunderstand." I begin to clarify in my gravest tone. "I did say heaven is guarding you, but we are at war. That mark on your shoulder is what gives us knowledge of your location, and we would come immediately if we detect demons in your proximity. But expecting us to be constantly scrutinizing your movements is impossible."

I'm once again reminded of Dean's rant, his obvious bitterness at my lack of assistance. I was able to silence him by threatening to return the man to hell, I wonder if I'll have to do the same to Alice. I prefer not to. "Like I told Dean, there's a bigger picture here. We can't all just follow you around."

There's a flash of steel in her gaze, but her expression morphs into regret. Alice is a picture of shame. She lowers her head and apologizes, assuaging my earlier disapproval. Alice, at least, knows when to be humble. However, it would be in her best interest to be more self-aware.

My gaze briefly flickers to the humans, wary of any onlookers. "If these humans overhear our conversation, don't you think we'll induce unnecessary panic?"

Her diffidence disappears and she seems to brush the idea aside entirely. "Cass, no one is paying attention to us. And even if they did, no one would believe any of what we're saying."

That is untrue. I slide my eyes towards a young woman standing off in the far corner. She is dressed similarly to the red-haired woman who served us. "You're wrong. That particular female has been watching us since we entered this establishment." I narrow my eyes.

Alice's body stiffens. "Do you think we should question her? Maybe she knows something."

She finally appears to see the weight of our situation.

"Perhaps. It's a possibility." I begin to reach for the mind of the staring woman. Before I can make the connection, Alice's laughter cuts my concentration. I glance back at her. "Why are you laughing?"

She indicates that _I_ am the cause. I don't recall acting in any way that would draw hilarity.

"That girl isn't sneaking looks at us because she's suspicious. She's sneaking looks at you because she's interested in you." She notices my lack of understanding. "She's interested in you romantically, Cass. Or sexually, or both."

I immediately withdraw myself, relieved I did not breach the woman's mind. "Oh."

Mild annoyance stirs within me. I don't appreciate being toyed with. But given her earlier concession, I'll overlook the conduct. "It's the appearance of my vessel that she admires. Not I."

This seems to peak her interest, and she readily abandons her earlier humor. "Your vessel?"

"I am currently possessing the body of a man named Jimmy Novak. He resigned his body to me when I descended from Heaven to fulfill my mission."

"Possess? Like the demons."

My jaw sets. It is blasphemy to compare their existence to us. "Jimmy Novak _gave me_ his permission." I emphasize. "Angels cannot inhabit a human body otherwise. He is my destined vessel."

Alice asks if Jimmy is still inside his body.

"With me in control, his soul mostly sleeps."

She watches me, her expression now a mirror of the same curiosity I have for her. "So this isn't really you I'm looking at. What do you really look like then?"

Our conversation is briefly cut short when our server brings Alice her meal. I resume my explanation when she leaves. "Humans are unable to perceive our true forms." I suddenly recall the woman named Pamela, who dared try to glimpse my appearance despite my warnings. She was blinded as a result and subsequently had her life taken by demons not long after. "At least, not without incurring heavy costs." I cannot deny that I am partially responsible.

Alice is sober. "I see… So, once all this is over, Jimmy will get his body back and you'll return to Heaven?"

"Yes." That is the plan.

"That's too bad. I think I've grown rather fond of you."

Her words dislodge my thoughts and I can't remember what I was thinking.

She is… _fond_ of me?

I begin to feel wary. Such emotions will only complicate—she's laughing again.

I inwardly sigh. This is beginning to try my patience. I don't understand. Alice has clearly shown me the foresight she possesses, and yet, how is she still capable of being so childish? When she confronted me that day, struck me with the unsettling details that I've never questioned, she was persuasive, _compelling._ But here, although she's displayed her prowess for maturity, she seems intent on disregarding any sound judgement. I've never come upon a creature more contradicting. If there is any consistency to her character, it would be her ability to continuously undermine my expectations of her.

I decide to bring us back to the matter at hand. "What did you see in the factory?"

Alice sighs, her sight falling to the dish in front of her. There is a slight dip between her brows, but otherwise, there are no hints to what she might be thinking. I study her face. Usually, it's quite expressive, but there are times like this when it becomes still with the most minute of flickers to suggest her intentions.

The average human, I've noticed, does not or cannot control their expressions. But some, like the Winchesters, would often mask their tumultuous swirl of emotions behind anger, sarcasm, or indifference. Regardless of their efforts, I can always see the truth in their eyes. I can read the disturbance in their gaze even without the access to their mind. However, with Alice, it isn't so simple. It's veiled, _guarded…_ just like her mind. It's frustrating… especially when I know it's times like this when her face is controlled that her thoughts are most abundant. I wonder if it's a trait of her singularity or a practiced skill.

When she looks up, her expression changes again. "Can't you just read my mind?"

I pull back. There's something different about the tenor of her voice; it's heavier somehow.

"That's what you did to our waitress." Her eyes shift to the earlier female. "The way you stared at her. You read her mind, didn't you? Why don't you read mine?"

What is this hidden narrative in her voice? I hear her question, but I feel it's cloaking something else. Is she toying with me again? I thought she understood why I can't. "Like I told you before, there is a barrier around your mind. I wasn't able to access it then and I'm still unable to."

She nods slowly, her mouth forming a silent "o". So, she finally remembers. Alice looks away, the same veiled gaze back on her face. She picks up a strip of fried potato… fries, I believe they're called, and chews. "I wonder if it's just you… Maybe, if there was another angel that night, they'd be able to see what I was dreaming—"

"I assure you, it's not."

There are no varying aptitudes to an angel's ability for seeing into a living being's mind. If the mind is warded, it will be warded against _all of us,_ unless a special exception is made within the spell.

"However that barrier is created, it's strong. Witches and warlocks have been known to defend their minds in a similar way, but yours is different… far more ancient."

If heaven is inclined to break the barrier in her mind, the means are there. It's only a matter of gathering the resources and energy necessary to pierce it…and the mental state that will befall her after-the-fact.

"As you are now, I doubt even the archangels will be able to read you."

There's a small tug from the edge of her lips. "What about the angel wardings? Is this something similar to that? If they can physically repel angels from a building, can they do it to someone's mind?" The mask is gone. Her face is now an open canvas of absolute dread. "What if the barrier in my head is demon made?"

She's jumping to conclusions. Although in both circumstances, angels are repelled, the two situations are strictly separate. Why is it that whenever humans encounter something unknown, they leap to theorize the most disparaging outcome?

But I remind myself. Alice is not human, and _her_ circumstances are as grim as they are exclusive. Perhaps some sympathy is warranted.

"Calm down, Alice. The wardings used by the demons can only repel us physically. Not only that, they also have to be drawn onto a surface with blood. The moment the marks are washed away or altered, the entire barrier would fall apart." She's attentive to my words but the upset hasn't left her. I try harder.

"If it's any solace, I was able to touch your barrier and I can assure you it isn't demon made. If anything, its singularity is reminiscent of the markings in your spell book. Ancient. But not demonic."

Her features finally ease and she leans back. Alice stares into the table, looking relieved and daunted. But then the veil is back and I'm shut out. Moments pass as I scrutinize her hooded gaze. After a while, I give up and simply wait for her next words.

"…Why?" she whispers.

"What?"

Alice appears slightly startled. She blinks and her expression switches into casual interest. "I was just wondering. Why did you give my book back to me?"

My brows pucker. "Because it belonged to you." Is the answer not obvious?

She mirrors my confusion, further fueling my own.

"It's filled with spells that you can't read. Weren't you concerned that I might've used it against you? Used it to escape?"

Why would she? We were providing her with protection. She gave her own agreement that her presence would be better secured with us. "No."

" _Why?_ " she asks again.

"Because _you said_ you would stay."

Alice becomes quiet. There's a hardening in the edges of her irises and a tight line delineates the seams of her lips. I can feel the distinct shift in her energy, but the changes are too rapid to get a lucid reading. I don't know what's going through her mind or what kind of internal reaction my words have elicited. I only know that something I said is affecting her.

Her line of questions befuddles me and I can only grasp at what the intent could be. I know mistrust among humans is commonplace. Understandable. Humans lie, cheat, are capable of committing acts of unspeakable horror to themselves and even the ones they love. Had I taken Uriel's advice and treated the Winchesters in a similar regard, this would be a very different conversation. But there's something about them I can't ignore. After all, _they_ were the ones chosen by heaven. Perhaps it's the same invisible factor that urges me to place my faith in them, in _her._

When Alice seems to resolve her internal dialogue, a brilliant smile shines across her face. The back and forth switches from one end of the emotional spectrum to the other has me dithering. How can she darken with anxiety and fear only to beam with good-humor the next? The notion of being human appears utterly exhausting.

"There was about a dozen of them." Her smile grows soft and her expression mildly apologetic when she sees my disorientation. "Back in the factory. Only a dozen demons, easy enough to take out."

A scene I caught in a park days ago flashes across my mind: a father sighing in relief after numerous attempts to pacify his child. I feel an urge to echo the action.

Finally, compliant, Alice explains the situation between bites of food. What she describes does not correspond to any of the seals engrained in my memory. Perhaps the demon locked away in the Winchesters' vehicle will shed some light on the matter. Upon my words, Alice receives a call. It's the younger of the two brothers. I'm relieved to know they are ready for the questioning. I've been eager to leave for a while. Once Alice attains the address, she gestures for me to depart. I'm one step ahead of her.

…

I walk swiftly down the white halls of Heaven's inner sanctum. Arriving at my superior's office, I reach out to turn the knob. The door swings open before my hand makes contact.

"Castiel, good to see you. Please, come in."

I approach Zachariah's desk. The man is sitting in his chair with his usual smile. I didn't know he's been expecting me. I dip my head in acknowledgment. "I've come to tell you the Winchesters and I have discovered why Lilith has been after an immortal, more specifically, Alice. They want her blood." I recite what the hell-spawn had chanted.

Zachariah looks on in thought. "I see."

"In addition, the demon states that Lilith now knows who and what Alice is. They will be sending more demons after her."

The man gives a slow nod. "That is a problem."

I concur. "As of now, she is under the Winchesters' protection. But I feel it is best if I returned to her side as soon as possible." I remember the terror-stricken look on her face.

At my words, his eyes flicker in my direction. "Yes, you are to keep guarding her." He leans forward from his seat. "And make sure you do not divulge any of what you learned to the other angels."

I knit my brows. "I don't understand."

Zachariah momentarily closes his eyes. "Think, Castiel. Should some of our brothers and sisters hear that we are protecting an immortal, the key to opening Lucifer's cage, they may feel conflicted about our decision. The archangel specifically ordered her protection. And so, the last thing we need right now is another episode like Uriel."

I nod in understanding. Bowing my head, I turn to leave.

"And Castiel."

I glance back to my commander.

Zachariah steels his gaze. "Do not get attached, am I clear?"

Lifting my head, my jaw grows rigid. "Yes."

Seemingly satisfied with my answer, Zachariah permits me to leave. I exit Heaven's inner quadrants with haste, compelling myself to believe the immortal is still safe with the Winchesters. The second I set foot outside the gate, I transport myself to the human realm. Touching down in Alice's room, I feel the elaborate warding and protection spells she has placed around her room. To further escape detection, there are added enchantments to obscure any residual trace of magic capable of setting off a demon's curiosity. Had Uriel not burned Alice with a tracking mark, even angels would have a difficult time finding her.

I choose to land in a far corner of her room, not wanting to startle her again.

The space is dark. The only light that grants any visibility is from outside the window. The stray glows cast through the blinds and spill striped patterns on the opposite wall. With her back facing the window, Alice sits at the bedside. Her figure is frozen and closed off. Even without the access to her mind, I can feel her distress.

"The warding you've placed over your room is quite thorough," I say when she still hasn't noticed my presence.

Her shoulders lift and fall in a barely discernable motion. She turns her face towards me, her eyes bleak and burning with unrest. "How did the demons know?"

When I voice my lack of understanding, she asks again. "How did they know _I_ was the immortal they were looking for?"

I frown. When the demon singled her out as the immortal, I had been just as alarmed. At first, I wondered if her being in the Winchester's presence somehow drew the demons' attention, but Alice has been under constant guardianship of the angels, and we _made sure_ that there were no demons in her proximity… save the factory of course. Perhaps something else happened in there that revealed Alice's identity to them? Something not even she or the Winchesters were made aware of?

Alice abruptly stands up, her eyes tense and gleaming. Her shoulders are rolled back and her spine rigid. "They recognized me on sight even though none of the demons I dealt with before thought I was anything but human. What changed? What about me is different? Enough to tip them off?"

Uriel's face flashed in my mind and it sets a heavy, nauseous feeling deep inside me. I lurch away from the thought. "I'm sorry, but I don't have an explanation for you. I don't know how they found out about you." All I have are speculations and I don't want to place unnecessary blame on anyone or anything that doesn't deserve it.

Disappoint spills across her face. Alice turns her saddened gaze to the ground and drops back on her bed. The reaction has me feeling restless. I was appointed her guard. I should've been in that factory with them. If I had, then we could have avoided this entire situation.

My thoughts pull to a stop.

What am I thinking? Because of this episode, we now know _exactly_ why Lilith wants Alice. Furthermore, she is still _safe_ under Heaven's guard. With the strength of the celestial legions, the immortal will never be touched.

Alice stares into the carpet, solemnity etching a heavy line across her brows. My confidence falters.

"If it truly concerns you, I can try and find out." Why am I offering to take on such a tedious task? With the seals breaking, I have a clear list of objectives that are far more critical. Although, perhaps pursuing the detail may help uncover something useful. For whatever reason, I feel as though I owe her this much. I reiterate to her that her protection is still the top priority.

Alice looks surprised, but my words seem to lift her spirits. She blinks a few times and tugs her vision to the side. _Sheepish_ is the word that comes to mind. She clears her throat. "What was the conclusion upstairs?

I relay to her my orders.

"Really? Even when I'm clearly a liability? Can Heaven really afford to be so relaxed? I was sure Zachariah or whoever runs the show up there would want me turned to cinders…" Alice trails off.

I frown. Her words are in poor taste. She's innocent and doesn't deserve to die. But the comment unsettles me. Does she truly think herself a liability? I study her expression. Her face is turned halfway to the wall and her eyes cloud with deliberation. There's a slight crease between her eyebrows, but like always, she shows no clear indication of her thoughts. If she is thinking of ending herself…

Urgency leaps within me. I must convince her otherwise. "Alice, I understand feeling the need to martyr yourself, but until we have a better grasp on the situation, it is better not to fill your head with such excessive notions."

She stays immobile, still lost in her own mind. She doesn't seem to have heard me.

Impatient, I approach her motionless figure, calling out to her again.

Alice stirs, successfully roused. She blinks then shakes her head. "No, I'm not thinking of martyring myself."

So, she did hear me. She starts to meet my eyes but then shies away again. What is she thinking? The itch to see inside her mind never felt stronger. Pain flashes across her face and she swallows. Before I can ask her what her affliction is, she lets out a laugh. Her expression is a mixture of amusement and something else… Grief?

As if on impulse, my hand reaches out. The motion surprises me and I jerk back, curling my fingers into a fist. The feeling is strange and illicit and it fills me with an odd sense of foreboding. Luckily, she doesn't seem to have noticed my behavior.

Still looking at the wall, her face suddenly softens. Alice turns to me and offers a bright smile. My apprehension evaporates. Is it possible that she overcame her earlier fear? She grabs the spell book on the bed and tosses it behind her. "Why don't you sit down already. You're making me feel like a bad host."

I prefer to keep standing, but something about the situation compels me to oblige her. I lower myself to the seat next to her. The mattress sinks under my weight. The sensation is distinctly different to the sturdy planks of the bench. I think I favor the bench. When she says my name, I look at her.

"If there are angels who disagree with the idea of me being protected and think I should be destroyed… what would you do?"

Her question stumps me. I didn't expect her to perceive the possibility… or even the probability with what Uriel had done and the others he was able to convince. I grit my teeth. No, it won't be allowed to happen, and I will stand against them just as I had against Uriel.

"I won't let them." I assert my decision.

Her eyes widen and she breaks into a smile. But it doesn't imbue her gaze with its usual glow. "But what if I told you that you shouldn't. That I wasn't worth it?" Her voice grows soft and wispy, like she's given up. I find myself feeling irritated.

"I don't understand."

"What if I told you that I'm a liar. A con-artist. That I manipulate the thoughts and feelings of everyone around me just for my own gain. I'm not the person you think I am, Cass. I'm sorry." She turns her face away. Locks of hair fall past her ears to curtain over her eyes. She slips her hands in the space between her knees. She looks smaller, more vulnerable. She's never shown such… _fragility_ , even under the wrath of Uriel. "I don't deserve your protection."

Dean's well of guilt-ridden, self-loathing sentiments reemerge in my mind. I give an exasperated sigh, wondering how many times I'd have to repeat myself. All this doubt that these humans have, that Alice has, it's growing tiresome. And I tell her as much.

She shakes her head. "Cass—"

"Alice." I silence her with a look. I tell her of Heaven's record, of the things about her life and Dean's life and Sam's life, everything that I've seen. There's nothing that would warrant their damnation. They did what they could, they made mistakes, and they acted (more or less) selflessly. And it's all I need to cement my decisions.

She stares at me in wordless surprise.

I look down at my hands as I interlace my fingers. The action seems to strengthen my line of thought. "I've been given orders to protect you and I fully intend to see that through." I pause, tightening the grip in my hands. "But even if that wasn't the case, yours isn't a life that should be extinguished. I would fight to protect it regardless—"

There is a flash of movement and she catches me off guard. Before I know what she's doing, her arms are thrown around my shoulders, locking me in an embrace. Her head brushes against my neck and the electric pull shoots through me. The scent of wildflower fills my senses. I immobilize myself, feeling her body press against mine. There's something incomprehensibly dangerous about this situation.

"Thanks so much, Cass," Alice whispers against my ear. And then, just as abruptly, she releases me. Her eyes are pools of deep honey. "You really cheered me up."

…

The demon screeches as I lay my hand upon his head, the holy energy burning through his core. Effectively erased, the empty body slumps over the concrete floor. I watch as the human soul slowly drift free from its physical confines.

"That's the last one," Theliel states from behind me.

I turn to my comrade-in-arms. "How many seals are there left?"

Theliel shakes his head. "Not many."

The vessel he has taken is that of a young man who has not yet reached two decades. The boy's hair is dressed with short brown curls and his eyes are the color of brimstone. Like all the other angels, we take on the attire of what our vessels wore at the moment of possession. His is a school uniform.

"I don't understand how the demons are capable of unraveling as many as they have." He glowers down at the hollow bodies by his feet. "They're so weak."

 _But resilient_ , I think to myself. They must be, given how long they've survived throughout the span of mankind.

"I'll clean this up, Castiel. You can leave. I understand you have another assignment." He dips his head towards me, sending a look of support.

I nod my head, grateful for his compassion, and depart.

Touching down in front of Heaven's inner gate, I waste no time to enter. When I reach Zachariah's office, the man is not there. Strange. He normally notified me prior if he's to be away. I glance around the ivory space. I could wait, send a message requesting his attention. I know it's protocol, something I _should_ do. But curiosity and a sense of premonition burgeon within me.

Giving the atrium another scanning sweep, I spread out my senses and feel for his presence. I detect Zachariah's angelic energy in the upper tiers, near the sector where Joshua resides. Even stranger...

Joshua isn't a soldier… at least not anymore. He always preferred more peaceful endeavors and was eventually tasked with the maintenance of Heaven's many divisions. I proceed through the maze of corridors and ambivalent doorways until I reach the gate that would lead me there.

A small, metal archway embedded in the white-washed walls stands before me. It appears insignificant and commonplace compared to the multiple other doors that line the vast hall. Like all the others, a swirl of light and color swim and melt across the entry like a gravity defying pool. I'm certain it's Zachariah's energy beyond this portal.

My eyes flit to either ends of the hall. I know I'm alone. Nearly all the angels are currently still entangled in battles against the demons or standing on guard against them. I grimace at myself. It's not as though I'm committing any malfeasance. Squaring my shoulders, I step through the portal. No sooner does my foot touch the other side that I feel the immediate crushing pressure of an archangel's presence. I throw my gaze into the distance, through the lush greenery that encompasses my vision. In this fragmented dimension is Joshua's garden, stretching endlessly in emerald flecked by a spectrum of hues. I can see my commander standing at its center. He looks upward, but all that can be perceived is a blinding glare, a searing glimpse of Michael's power. When the archangel speaks, his voice reverberates through the surroundings.

Zachariah is a picture of humility. "Everything is occurring on schedule. There are only a handful of seals left."

The booming voice questions further.

My superior shakes his head. "The incident with Uriel will not happen again. The soldiers are doing what they are told, each knowing precisely enough to get their job done—" He's interrupted by another question.

"The immortal is in our custody. I will have her blood prepared by then—" Zachariah grimaces when he is cut off for a third time. A muscle twitches in his jaw when he unclamps his mouth to answer. "I assure you! He will be freed just as fate dictates."

My eyes widen. What am I hearing? I step back through the portal, pulling myself away from the inconceivable discussion between my commander and the zenithal archangel. My eyes trail along the colorless walls of the hallway while I press a hand on the one side. There must be a reasonable explanation for what I just heard. I rack my brain for the justification. _Alice's blood? Only a handful of seals left?_ They're trying to set Lucifer free!

Why? Why is the archangel planning for the apocalypse, planning for _his_ freedom? They're going to take Alice's blood!

I bristle.

Alice!

I snap out of my spiraling confusion. I must warn her; I must warn them all. I rush down the halls, turning every which way until I'm past the main gate. I halt, realizing I would only draw Zachariah's attention if I visit them. My eyes clench together as my mind searches for a solution. Perhaps an alternate meeting place. I can place wards against the other angels. Yes. I'll send them a message indirectly.

I fixate my senses on Alice's tracking mark. I frown. It's no use, the girl is asleep; I can't reach her dreams.

Dean!

He, I can reach. I immediately send the tendrils of my mind towards the older Winchester. Plunging my consciousness into his, I let my body fall towards the mortal realm.

In his dreams, Dean is sitting in a chair by a lake on a mid-noon day. A fishing rod sits loosely in his left hand while his right relaxes on his lap. I quickly advance to where he is.

"We need to talk." I must make this brief.

Dean is quick to catch on. "I'm dreaming, aren't I?"

"It's not safe here, someplace more private."

The man shoots me an odd look. "More private? We're inside my head."

"Exactly, someone could be listening." I glance around his dream world, wary of potential eavesdroppers.

"Cass, what's wrong?"

I materialize the desired location onto a sheet of paper, promptly handing the information to Dean. "Meet me here. Go. Now." And with that, I vacate his consciousness. Pulling myself back to the physical reality, I move to the very destination I gave him.

When I arrive, I inspect the building. A storage warehouse only partially filled with obsolete machines and hasn't been disturbed in months. A heavy layer of metal dust coats the property, filling the air with a copper taste. It certainly appears discreet enough. To my right is a support beam, still strong as it soars towards the ceiling to uphold the building's structural integrity. There are three more just like it. I grab onto a section of the metal support, ripping the rod from the frame. Using the jagged edge, I dig into my left arm and draw out the blood needed for the angel wards. Once a large enough incision is made, I discard the rod. Pulling my fingers across the wound, I lap up as much of the crimson liquid as I can before I approach the nearest wall. Just as I've drawn the first symbol, I feel the arrival of my brothers behind me.

"What do you think you're doing, Castiel?"

I silently curse in Enochian. "Jael, Hamon." I turn towards them with a frown. "You don't understand."

The two angels have their blades readied. Zachariah must know then.

"We were told to bring you back by any means necessary."

I stand on guard, prepared to bring out my own weapon. I wonder if I am able to convince them of my reasons. "Brothers, let me explain."

For a moment, I am relieved as Jael moves to sheath his blade. But the relief shatters when he brings out the Revocation Crest.

"No!" I am blinded by the Crest's power, my objection lost. I struggle to stay latched within my vessel, but it's hopeless. I am ripped Jimmy's body and sent hurling back to Heaven.

* * *

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	8. Until the End

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* * *

"W..ke ...p!" You hear a muffled voice. The sound is jumbled and far away, as if you're listening from underwater.

" **H..y, w...ke up!"** The harsh voice calls on you again, this time appearing louder and clearer.

A tremor ripples through your awareness. The motion's force latches onto you, dragging you back to the surface of consciousness. You can feel someone close.

" **Alice! You goddamn immortal! Wake the hell up!** " The proximity of Dean's voice blasts through your ears, forcing your eyes open.

You blink a few times, adjusting to the light. "Dean?"

The older Winchester sighs in relief. "I would say thank God, but I'm pretty sure he's the reason we're in this mess."

You look around the room, realizing with dejection that you're still trapped. Your eyes trace back to Dean's worried face. "Why are you here?"

Dean helps to ease your back onto the wall. There's a dark look on his face. "I could ask you the same thing, but I'm beginning to get the gist of it." When you seem capable of holding your position, he lets go. Glaring down at your wound, he rubs the back of his head angrily. "Dammit! How the hell was I tricked so easily?! All this time, Sammy and I thought you were taken by demons! When you were really…"

You pass a leering glance at your old wound. You weren't aware that your hand kept its clutched position over the gash. Lifting a few fingers away, you inspect the injury. The bleeding has stopped at the very least. "I wouldn't be so hard on myself if I were you. I was fooled too. Even Cass-"

"Cass knows."

You fix your eyes on his seething figure. He lifts his head to meet your gaze, pupils burning from the sores of betrayal. His expression confirms your suspicions, but you refuse to believe it.

Dean falls to a sit beside you, his head shaking and his lips curled into an ironic smile. "From the beginning, we were getting jerked around by dickhead angels so we can stop the seals and the apocalypse. They had us with our heads so far up our own asses we didn't even realize we were digging our own graves." He punches the marble ground.

You stare at the fuming hunter.

Is it true? Should you believe his words? You recall Castiel from your recent memories, the straightforward, awkward, and innocent angel who was so singularly focused on your protection. Had he really decided to forsake humanity?

You wince at the thought. Despite Dean's revelation, you can't seem to bring yourself to feel the same wrath. The angel in your memories was trying so hard. You decide to place your focus elsewhere. "Dean, if you're here. Where's Sam?"

The man's anger momentarily stills then a wave of melancholy follows. He doesn't meet your gaze. "We had a fight. He split."

You raise your eyebrows incredulously. "You had a fight," you repeat slowly. "Just when the apocalypse is about to happen."

He jerks an irked glance at you. "You don't understand! He was drinking demon blood! It's like he wasn't even Sam anymore!"

You give him the most exasperated look you can muster. "Dean, what are you talking about? That's a total Sam thing to do! All he ever wanted was to save people! And with his demon powers, he can pull the demons out without killing the hosts." You gesture towards him. "Even you couldn't do that with your demon blade!"

"You actually agree with him? You think him drinking demon blood is just another vitamin supplement?"

"Of course not!" You rebuke defensively. You think you feel lightheaded again. "However misguided his actions may be, his goal has always been to protect you and to save others. He's doing his best with the options he's got, Dean." You sigh.

Perhaps Cass, too, is doing his best with what he's been given. Can you really fault them for that?

You watch the gloom overshadows his features. "And with the end of the world just around the corner, you guys should be sticking together even more."

Dean's shoulders sag. "I know. I already got the earful from Bobby." He draws out a long puff of air.

When you see his anger dissipate, you snort from your nose. "Good on Bobby. Had a fight…. Wow." You repeat in part disbelief part taunt.

"All right, all right. I get it." He gets up from his seat, swatting the air beside him in annoyance.

"Call him."

There's an irritated look on his face, but he takes out his phone regardless. Pressing a few quick buttons, he brings the phone to his ear.

"You can't reach him, Dean. You're outside your coverage zone."

The familiar voice snatches your attention, making your heart leap. You stare transfixed at the seraph, still startled by his sudden intrusion. There is a painful clenching inside you.

 _Castiel…. What are you thinking?_ The question echoes in your mind.

Dean refuses to acknowledge the angel's presence. "What're you going to do to Sam?"

Castiel frowns. You know he can see you, but the man keeps his line of vision stubbornly forward. With a stiff jaw, he turns away, hiding his face from you. "I'm not going to do anything to him. He'll do it to himself."

Dean swerves around, his attention successfully captured. "What's that supposed to mean?"

Castiel still denies Dean's gaze, or yours.

The hunter takes another step forward. "I said, what the hell is that supposed to mean?"

The angel appears utterly helpless. With an uncomfortable noise in his throat, he unclenches his jaw. "I'm sorry."

You feel compelled to believe him.

"Sorry?" An abrupt rage washes over the hunter. Pulling back his fist, he punches the angel across the face. There's a clear sound of flesh meeting metal when the contact is made. Pained, Dean spins around, grimacing at the pulsing sting in his hand.

"Dean!" you cry out at his unwarranted actions. Lurching upward, you try to stand, but the twisting wound in your stomach and the lack of blood cripple you. After a single step, you fall forward. Your arm catches the side of the table on your way down.

"Alice!" Dean pales, running towards you. "What the hell are you doing? Zachariah took over half the blood in your body! Stay down, you idiot!" He positions himself beside you, steadying your frame by grabbing onto the sides of your arms. Despite Dean's scolding, your attention isn't with him. Your sudden interjection finally draws the attention of the unsuspecting angel. Castiel stares at you, unable to tear his eyes away. You see the heavy ache and guilt on his face. You want to tell him you understand, but a part of you keeps your lips firmly sealed.

Following your eyes, Dean rears an angry head back to Castiel. "Do you see this, you son of a bitch? You were supposed to protect her! We were supposed to stop the apocalypse together! And now you're just turning right around to stab us in the back?!"

A painful strain carves into Castiel's face. "Try to understand. This is long foretold. This is your-"

"Destiny?" Dean finishes scornfully. Realizing you're able to stay on your two feet with the support of the table, he steps away from you. Sending a chilling glare towards the angel, he focuses his attention back on hurling verbal attacks. "You're such a child, Cass. Destiny. God's plan. It's all a bunch of lies! It's just a way for your bosses to keep me and keep you in line!"

Castiel is restless, but maintains his stubborn silence.

"You know what's real? People, families, that's real! And you're gonna watch them all burn?"

Castiel snaps. "What is so worth saving? I see nothing but pain here! I see inside you. I see your guilt, your anger, confusion. In paradise, all is forgiven. You'll be at peace. Even with Sam." He turns to you with a desperate plea. "You'll be _safe_."

You return his gaze with a sad look. You understand where his reasoning is coming from, but there is a certain flaw to the logic. You just can't pinpoint where. Even if all the humans killed during the apocalypse go to Heaven as a result, you know something fundamentally disastrous will occur. You can't explain how you know, or why you know. You just do.

You breathe out a shaky breath. "Castiel, I once asked you if you would continue following orders even if you felt there was something wrong. So now I will ask you again. Do you still think humanity is worth protecting?"

Castiel stares into your unwavering eyes, the memory of your former conversation eroding his current resolve.

"This is simple, Cass. No more crap about being a good soldier. There's a right and there's a wrong here, and you know it!" Dean follows up on your question, his voice takes on an earnest note. "You were going to help us once, weren't you? You were gonna warn me about all this, before they dragged you back to bible camp!"

Your eyes flicker towards Dean, unaware of that occurrence.

"Help us now! Please."

Castiel is fighting an internal struggle. "What will you have me do?"

There's a spark of hope on Dean's face. "Get me to Sam, we can stop this before it's too late!"

The angel lifts his head, alarm flashing in his eyes. "I do that, we will all be hunted. We'll be killed!" He scans Dean's face before moving on to you, but both your expressions are resolute.

"Cass." Dean brings the angel's attention back. "If there's anything worth dying for, this is it."

The angel's expression falters, and Dean loses his patience. He turning his back on Castiel. "You, spineless, soulless son of a bitch. What do you care about dying? You're already dead. We're done."

"Dean." Castiel pleads.

"We're done."

You watch silently as the seraph disappears. Desolation hangs over the room. Realizing you and the hunter are now alone, Dean slowly makes his way back to you.

"You sure you're okay? You still look like a friggin' ghost and uh… kinda drained, ya know?"

You sigh, the dry humor isn't lost on you. "With the amount of blood I've lost, I oughtta be dead. I think I can now successfully believe I'm an immortal."

Dean wrings out a wry grin. "Yeah. Just in time to watch the world go to hell."

You close your eyes. You really thought Castiel would come through. There's a bitter heaviness in your stomach, wrought from disappointment.

A muffled gasp breaks out beside you, and you snap your head in Dean's direction. Your eyes widen.

Dean is pushed to the wall with a hand over his mouth, and the hand belongs to none other than the angel in question. Castiel has reappeared. He shoots you a silencing look.

You stare stunned at his alarming actions. Looking back to Dean, he eyes the demon knife at the man's waist. Taking the blade, he slowly moves his hand from the hunter's lips. Dean watches the angel warily, glancing back and forth from the knife.

Before you can react, Castiel pulls the metal edge across his arm. He then hands the knife back to Dean, who accepts it absentmindedly. Soaking his free hand over the bleeding wound, he begins to drag a crimson line across the eggshell wall.

Among the confusion, you notice movement in the corner of your vision. Another unexpected appearance, this time from a far less welcomed guest.

"Castiel. Would you mind explaining just what the hell you're doing?" Zachariah approaches with a wrathful menace.

Castiel turns to his superior, a look of defiance burning in his eyes. Having finished with the sigil, he presses his hand atop the bloody sign, evoking its power. A flash of light sears through your vision as Zachariah is blasted from the room.

When you open your eyes again, Dean is standing by Castiel's side with an equally confused expression.

"He won't be gone long. We have to find Sam now."

At his words, an immense relief washes over you. The tidal wave of emotion almost leaves you feeling faint. You didn't realize how deep of an influence Castiel had on you, and you're a little troubled by it.

The angel quickly turns to you and reaches out his hand. He examines your face for permission before pressing his palm against your wound. You inhale deeply when you feel a surging heat spreading from his hand.

Unable to keep patient, Dean dives straight to the matter concerning his brother. "Where is he?"

As Castiel's hand retreats, a tingling feeling is left in its wake. You glance down at your stomach. The previous open gash is now replaced by clean, smooth skin. Your color and vitality have also returned; you feel completely refreshed.

Finishing with your restoration, Castiel replies to the hunter. "I don't know. But I know who does. We have to stop him from killing Lilith."

You and Dean exchange puzzled looks.

"But Lilith's gonna break the final seal." Dean states, as if to remind everyone.

Castiel's eyes harden. "Lilith _is_ the final seal. She dies, the end begins."

When the foreboding words sink in, every fiber of Dean's appearance screams panic. "We gotta go. We gotta go now!"

Without missing a beat, Castiel grabs you and Dean by the arm. The three of you vanish.

When you feel solid ground again, it takes you a minute before you recognize where you are. The contrast between the bright interior of your previous lavish prison and this current commode is jarring. Weak, yellow lighting ebb from the skewed light fixture on the walls. The paint is aged and chipping and the messy state of affairs of the rest of the room does little to add to its comeliness.

"This isn't supposed to happen…"

Chuck Shirley, aka God's prophet, stares numbly at the three intruders who just appeared in his living room. A voice sounds from the phone held slack in his hands, snapping his attention back to reality.

"Uh, no. This is definitely supposed to happen. I just have to call you back." The anxiety-ridden novelist sets his phone down. "Why are you guys here?"

Dean steps forward. "We need to get to Sam. Tell us where he is."

The prophet looks nervously at each of your faces. "W-well, he's at Saint Mary's right now. What's going on?"

The hunter ignores his question. "Saint Mary's. What is that, a convent?"

"Yeah," Chuck stutters, "but you guys aren't supposed to be there. You're not in this story."

Castiel lifts his head. "Yeah, well. We're making it up as we go."

You and Dean stare at your angelic ally, eyes wide with unexpected approval. Pride swells within your chest.

Just as the comradery between the three of you is re-forged, the ground starts to shake. Various objects are knocked off the walls, tables and shelves. The light from the windows grows increasingly intense.

"Ah man, not again." Chuck shifts his weight restlessly between his legs.

Castiel turns toward you and Dean, shouting over the rumble. "It's the archangel! I'll hold him off! I'll hold them all off! Just stop Sam!"

You swerve around at the angel's words. He isn't planning on coming with you. The sinking feeling in the pit of your stomach claws out in rejection. You clench your fists and push the feeling back down. You know there is no alternative option.

Castiel lifts his arm and presses two fingers to Dean's forehead. The hunter immediately vanishes. Just as the angel prepares to do the same to you, you catch him by the arm to stop him. You refuse to leave without a proper parting.

"Wait." Before he can question you, you grab onto his face and lean in, pressing your lips against his. And that's when you feel it: a buzzing charge that leaps from the contact. His mouth is unexpectedly sweet, and the feel of it seduces you. When you notice his rigidity, you pull back. Examining his frozen expression, you give out a broken laugh. "That's a thank you. For choosing us. For choosing humanity." Your face turns solemn, eyes darkening in their severity. "You come back in one piece, you understand?"

At your demand, the statue like angel is once again animated.

Just as you prepare for departure, Castiel suddenly grabs you around the waist. Startled, you glimpse the wild tempest in his eyes as you're flung against him. He immediately snakes his other hand around your neck, crashing his mouth over yours. The kiss isn't at all gentle like the one you offered. This is much more ardent, much more feverish. And the electric spark, now almost an explosion, surges through you, enticing you to press closer... deeper… chasing away all conscious thought.

Castiel moves his hand from your neck to your shoulder, and with a firm grip, he pulls away from you. You're left breathless, flushed from the kiss and skin burning in the places he touched you. You hardly notice the prophet, who had been standing awkwardly in the background the whole time.

Although his blue eyes remain resolute, there is now a softened quality to them. "Alice." He breathes out your name, sounding almost weak, and it sends gravity tumbling back. "Go." He passes his hand over your forehead, and you could do nothing but accept his action.

Before you're transported, you leave him with a steadfast gaze, pleading that he survives this.

You touch down to the frantic hollering of Dean. His cries echo down from the dreary, slate covered hallway. You find your balance and glance around to the direction of Dean's voice. Your surroundings are dark. The only source of light is from the frosted windows placed evenly along the corridor. You catch the misty glow of the moon, splattering the blurry dark of your shadow onto the opposite wall.

"SAM!"

You swerve towards the sound of Dean's bellow and start running. The trotting of your footsteps clang against the stone walls, mixing with the reverberation of his voice. When you finally reach the hunter, he is slamming himself angrily at a wooden door. The bulk of the wood trembles with each additional collision.

"Dean!" you call out for his attention.

"Finally! What the hell took you so long?!" the man growls out breathlessly. "Help me break this fucking door down!"

You nod hastily. Pressing a hand on the grained surface, you chant out a spell. " _Chiem._ " The door makes a jolting sound, the edges of its frame spouting out puffs of dust.

Dean wastes no time and plows himself against the door once more. This time, the wooden barricade breaks open, revealing the calamity inside. No sooner is the entrance free does a sudden wave of power blow through you. You fling your gaze forward, capturing the scene in the room.

A boney woman dressed in a white gown lies dead under an altar, her blond curls spilling across her empty face. The body bleeds onto the stone floor. Near her immobile hand is a familiar glass jar, its contents slopping out and mixing together with the blood of the female corpse. You watch in horror as the crimson merges and pulls itself across the pavement.

"Sam!" Dean bellows out, pulling your attention. He charges towards his brother and the woman standing at his side. Raising his right arm, you see the demon blade clutched between his fingers. Before the woman can react, Sam grabs her firmly by the arms, trapping her as Dean rips the dagger into her. You stare wide-eyed as the two hunters mercilessly kill the demoness who they had been working with for so long. When the woman falls, the brothers regard each other with inexpressible looks of relief and regret.

Sam's chest heaves. "…Dean, I'm sorry."

The blood swerves again, drawing the stroke further towards the center. Another eruption of energy bursts outward, snatching your gaze back to the impending disaster. This wave of power rips through you more intensely than the first.

 _Crack._

Something triggers inside you. Buried in the far reaches of your psyche, you suddenly notice an immense wall stretching across your awareness. Having stayed completely oblivious to your consciousness until now, you realize it's been holding something back. The barricade trembles, slowly breaking apart.

 _Crack. Crack. Crack._

Your body seizes as the fissures on the wall widen, creating further rifts and chasms. And then you feel the final break. All at once, every nerve inside your mind is white hot agony. It's as though your brain is splitting open. You scream.

The bloody strokes a few meters in front of you finally come to a stop, opening a gaping hole at the center. Blinding light ruptures forth from the abyss, gnawing and growing as it begins to swallow the entire room.

Lurching forward, you grab onto your head with both hands, nails digging into the sides of your skull. The pulsing ache in your brain resonates with the pure white energy exploding from the pit. You barely notice someone shouting your name. A forceful grip latches onto your arm, jerking you upwards.

"Alice!"

You're spun around. Dean's face is yelling angrily at your own while a panic-stricken Sam stands next to him.

"Lucifer's coming out! We gotta get out of here!"

The final crack expands to the very edge of the wall, sending the entire mental fortress tumbling. Your skin begins to glow, and the brothers respond with looks of alarm. A vortex of energy spirals within you, sputtering as you try to suppress its colossal power. You push against the two brothers, praying they would get away. Sam and Dean are thrown back from the slightest movement of your hands, landing heavily against the doors.

"Go! Leave me! Get out of here!" you cry out, clutching your arms.

"Alic-!" The boys vanish.

Their strange disappearance baffles you, but the thundering phenomenon in your body prevents you from dwelling on the matter. Abruptly, you arch back, feeling the scorch shoot through you. Your head tosses back and you scream out towards the ceiling. Searing light bursts from your insides, rupturing through your pupils and expanding to the edges of your eyes until everything is swallowed in illumination.

~ _You can't escape me, Lyss.~_

Enochian words wrapped in a deep and clamoring voice resound from the pillar of light. The pressure and might of his words strike through your corporeal body, stretching and tugging. As a last resort to defend against the entrapment, your writhing core bursts forth a wave of its own power, pushing back the ravenous miasma.

"… _Alice..._

 _…Soveminl…!"_

Everything turns black.

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 **Please Read and Review:** Reviewers get to kiss Castiel goodbye! But hopefully not...


	9. Interlude

**PLEASE READ AND REVIEW!**

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Bobby Singer clutches his knees with trepidation as he watches his television screen. The scratched up old box has been tuned to nothing but the news channel for the past five hours. Bobby swallows a dry lump in his throat, scanning the rolling text under the anchorwoman. There is still no mention of unnatural occurrences. His eyes slide to the coffee table in front of him. Sitting silently atop the stained wooden surface is a small black cellphone. The middle-aged man licks his lips. Maybe the boys did it. Maybe they were able to stop this whole mess.

A loud boom thunders beneath his feet, sending violent shakes across the entire house. Bobby flings himself behind his battered sofa, crouching against the flooring and shielding his head. His eyes are clenched shut as he swears in his head, waiting for the end of the world.

But nothing comes.

Confused but wary, Bobby opens one eye to inspect his surroundings. The shaking has stopped, and other than a few fallen objects, everything remains the same. On the other side of the room, the television continues to sound with the reporter's voice.

"The hell?" Bobby mutters under his breath. He slowly stands up. Glancing around his room, he searches for any sign of danger. After a few more seconds of tension, he finally takes in a proper breath. Now that he is sure his living room is secure, the man decides to examine the rest of his house. Quickly grabbing the shotgun leaning in the corner wall, he moves cautiously towards his kitchen. Save the stately voice buzzing from the television, all else is silent. After passing a few glances from his stove to the cupboards, he proceeds across the linoleum tiles to the rest of his house.

Brandishing the firearm, Bobby points the barrel of his gun into each room before entering, and every time, he finds nothing. Bobby scratches his head, standing in the middle of his hallway. A puzzled look stretches over his face. And then he remembers. The explosion sounded strongest beneath his feet.

He races down the stairs towards the basement, stopping just before he reaches he entrance. Staring at the door to the cellar, the old hunter swallows in preparation. Gradually turning the knob, he pulls back the door. Bobby strains his ears, focusing on the slightest noises that may sound. Nothing again. He lowers down to the first step, then the next, still gripping onto his shotgun. As the descent continues, his index finger twitches over the trigger. When both feet reach the bottom, Bobby hovers the barrel across the musty surroundings. Even with the violent quake occurring just moments ago, the basement seems untouched. The man straightens, lowering his tense shoulders. Feeling a lot more at ease, his hold on the gun slacks and he moves towards the vault. After all, the panic room is the safest place for miles, probably even one of the safest places in the country. He passes the firearm to his left hand and unlocks the hulk of the metal door with his right. The door swings open with a grating screech. Bobby's eyes grow into saucers.

"Alice?!"

Sitting in the middle of the metal room is the 25-year-old girl. Her frame is small and rigid as she rests upon the iron floor. Her unruly black hair sprawls across her face, hiding her expression. Behind the dark strands, her eyes carry an abnormal glint. Other than the odd silence, she seems more or less unharmed.

Bobby shakes his head of the daze and steps forward. "How did ya get here? Where are the boys?"

"Stop!"

The girl's voice freezes the man mid-motion.

Bobby examines her again. There's a strange quality to her voice, and were her eyes always that color? "What's wrong?"

"The brothers are safe. You must not come in. Not yet. Leave me in here. I am recuperating."

Something is definitely off. Alice didn't talk like that. There's a mental struggle inside Bobby. Maybe the poor girl saw something she didn't like. This is a panic room after all. Yet, unease refuses to release its grip. And what the hell was that explosion? Bobby studies the young female.

She's sitting inside the room, so she must not be possessed. But how the hell did she end up in here?

Alice stares back, unblinking.

"Bobby, please."

Sighing, Bobby nods his head. "All right, all right. But if you need anything, anything at all, you give me a holler. I believe you when you said Sam and Dean are safe, but you gotta give me a better explanation after."

Alice dips her head in affirmation.

Reluctantly, Bobby pulls back from the entrance. He eyes the door then back to the girl. Alice nods, and he sighs again. Pulling at the iron handle, he swings the gate back to cover the entrance. There is a clanging of metal on metal when the door closes, sealing the girl inside.

~With You~

 _…_ _Soveminl…_

Disjointed thoughts bubble within your consciousness, nudging you to wake. You open your eyes and all you see is black. Yet, there is a quiescent like absence to the surroundings.

You blink. Are you dreaming?

All at once, pictures, voices, feelings materialize across the dark space, filling your vision with sporadic movements of color and scenes twisting and mixing into one another. You realize they are memories… but they don't belong to you, they don't belong to _Alice_. These recollections _you_ didn't know, recollections _you_ 've never had flood the forefront of your mind, wholly conquering its entirety. You see yourself, through the spiral of continuous scenes, reeling like a fast-forwarded movie. But you aren't _you_. In these images, you are someone else, and not just some _one.._.

You gasp as you're submerged in another flash of birth, existence, and death. Each series of moving pictures foretell the life of a different person.

 _Soveminl…!_

You fall further down through the spiral of scenes and images, reliving the lives of each person at warped speed.

 _SOVEMINL!_

The whirlwind of scenes comes to a screeching halt, and at the center, you feel it. Floating down towards you is the oldest memory; the first memory; the first life. The resonance emanating from this recollection lulls you into a trance. Through the muddy whirlpool that is this ancient memory, something begins to emerge at the center.

Stepping through the blur of colors is a woman of glowing and unearthly features. The contrast of her acute clarity is stark against the hazy memory that was her world. She opens her eyes, a pair of piercing amber. Her hair falls around her in wisp like tresses, colored silver so unblemished it almost appears white. Whatever this woman is, it isn't human.

You gaze on in awe. Bathed in a staggering familiarity, you yearn to approach.

 _"_ _Stop, Alice."_

Her bell like voice commands you, and you immediately obey.

"I know you." You want to say. But instead of a voice, the words echo disjointedly around you.

The transient female gently dips her chin.

 _"_ _Yes. You do. But do not come closer. You're not yet ready."_

Your confusion distorts the atmosphere. "Why?"

She smiles sadly.

You gaze wonderingly at her, wanting so badly to move closer. "I know you, but I can't remember who you are…"

She closes her eyes and lifts her head. Tendrils of energy flex from her figure, radiating at even the tiniest movement.

 _"_ _My name is Lyss. And we are one and the same."_

A spark of comprehension shoots through you, coupled with the onslaught of insight. This woman was you, the first you, the first incarnation. All the recollections whirl down towards you. The different lives you seen, the births and the deaths you've experienced; they are all you, _were_ all you. This is what's been missing, the part of you you couldn't find, the frustratingly intangible pull deep beneath your skin. Your heart throbs from the revelation. At last… at long last you know… you understand.

You let out a sobbing cry.

Trapped in this cycle, you have been born again and again, bound with the mark but never remembering your origin until now. After a hundred lifetimes, the sealing of your memories has finally come apart, breaking you from the cycle.

There is a flash of light and the memories disappear, amply absorbed back into your consciousness. Integrated and intact, you feel more complete than you've ever had.

At last, you are free. You are a true immortal.

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 **This is the last chapter of the first instalment of this series. Please continue to read the sequel: As You Sow, So Shall You Reap.**

 **I would also really like to know what my readers think of the story thus far.**

 **Please read and review! REVIEWERS GET TO MEET CASTIEL AGAIN!**


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